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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714488">Spider-Man Redux Part 1: The Master Planner</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeible/pseuds/Zeible'>Zeible</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Marvel Redux [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Only to Diversify), Alternate Universe - Original, Alternate Universe - Race Changes, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Peter Parker, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Gay Male Character, Gen, Gender or Sex Swap, I'm Here to Show Bendis &amp; Slott How It's Done, Jewish Character, Jewish Peter Parker, Lesbian Character, M/M, Mostly Gen, One-Sided Attraction, POV Multiple, Romani Character, So Don't Worry About it Being Abandoned, Trans Female Character, Work is Already Finished</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:43:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>41,618</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeible/pseuds/Zeible</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Benjamin Parker has been having a rough time, lately. His newfound powers have complicated his life in a major way, now that he's trying to honor his uncle's memory by using them to raise up the oppressed and those in need. He's got school problems, relationship troubles, people to save from fires, and cops to punch. In summation, he's swamped.</p><p>The last thing he needs is a bunch of new supervillains to show up in New York, serving the enigmatic "Master Planner", with a mysterious plan to take over the city. Can Peter Parker handle facing down this new foe? And will he be prepared for what he might learn about them...and about himself?</p><p>Features: Snarky Bisexual Peter Parker, Exasperated Gay Max Dillon, Their Mutual Cool Lesbian Friend Tavia Smith, and many other characters. Thrill as Spider-Man says "ACAB!", Cheer as he says "Trans Rights!", and Gasp as he successfully scores a date!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Grimm &amp; Peter Parker, Betty Brant/Peter Parker, Max Dillon &amp; Peter Parker, Max Dillon &amp; Tavia Smith, Peter Parker &amp; Tavia Smith, Reed Richards/Susan Storm (Fantastic Four)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Marvel Redux [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Issue #1: The Chameleon Strikes!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Whew, this has been a long time coming. And yet, surprisingly short in the making. After years of sitting in my head, I finally cranked the first draft of this bad girl out in just two weeks. So as I sit here, looking at the document in LibreOfficeWriter (Yes, I use Linux, sue me), I find myself thinking; am I dreaming?</p><p>I first conceived of this when I was still in high school, and a very different person (Still an egg, for one thing). Surprisingly little has changed for Marvel Redux as a whole, besides the fact that some things got more personal and some subtle themes became more overt. </p><p>What did change though, was why I was writing this. At first it was just a silly way for me to say "Here's how *I'd* do the Marvel Universe", and that was it. Certainly, it's still much the same even now. I look on all the things that have happened since then, and I don't really feel all that different. Really the biggest change is the fandom; Spider-Man in the MCU brought in a lot of fresh faces, most of whom have a VERY different idea of who Spider-Man is as a character than the superhero I grew up reading as a kid, when I received reprints of the original Lee/Ditko run in the mail every week for a few very interesting years.</p><p>If you've followed me for any time, and read my previous attempts at similar retellings, let me reassure you right now; this is not like them. This is not something I'll work on passionately for a month and then forget about the next. This has been close to my heart for longer than I even knew my name, and it's not going anywhere anytime soon. Definitely helps that the expansive nature of the project gives me a lot else to work on if ADD stops me from being able to work on Spider-Man!</p><p>If you're still worried about becoming invested in something that might go unfinished, especially something so big...well, I can understand that. Rest assured I intend to make sure each of these "Arcs" (My name for the individual installments) will be finished before I start posting it to AO3, and I intend for them to all be self-contained. I don't want anyone else to feel like I did when Spectacular Spider-Man was cancelled on one HELL of a cliffhanger for the sake of a film franchise that nobody seems to remember only six years later.</p><p>There's a lot more I could say about Spidey Redux (Which I tend to call "Spider-Man and his Spectacular Friends", for long, but it'll be a while before Spidey really HAS those Spectacular Friends), but I think for now it's best I save any of those thoughts for the next time. Without further ado, I present the first "Issue" of the first installment in what I HOPE will be a long-running project of mine.</p><p>I hope it comes to mean as much to you as it does to me.</p><p>-V.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><span class="u">Sunday, January 3</span><sup><span class="u">rd</span> </sup> <span class="u">Tavia Smith's Residence, Manhattan<br/></span></p><p>“No, I <em>don’t </em>know what my favorite movie is. Why do you always ask me that?”</p><p>Max Dillon was sitting on a plush leather couch in his friend Tavia’s apartment, alongside his two best (and only) friends in the whole world; Peter Parker and Tavia Smith. The former, a <em>very </em> handsome young man with messy, curly brown hair and gorgeous brown eyes was sitting at his right. He had an arm over Max’s shoulder, which for Max was <em>tantalizingly </em> close to the kind of contact he wanted with the other boy. God, one of these days he’d just <em>have </em> to shoot his shot. He knew Peter was bi, there was at least a <em>chance</em>.</p><p>“Because,” Tavia asked, “It’s an interesting question! And you <em>must </em>know, how could you not?”</p><p>He leaned over and looked over at his other friend. Tavia, if he’d been into girls, would’ve surely been the one he was crushing on here (Unless he’d be bi, then it’d be bi panic every day with these two!). She was a sleek butch girl, with a preference for a casual goth look when she didn’t have the time for something more elegant (The girl was damned fond of suits, like the one she was wearing right now). She wore her hair long up top and short on the sides, and had, in his opinion, a <em>very </em>nice jawline. Tavia was self-conscious about that, along with her handsome shoulders and her ‘big, mannish’ hands, because she was trans and <em>all </em>trans girls were like that. They could look like Audrey Hepburn or Marilyn Monroe, and experience had showed him that they’d keep agonizing over their appearance, worried that they were really Quasimodo and nobody was telling them.</p><p>He loved her dearly, but sometimes Tavia could really get way too worked up about things. Today was no exception; she’d been pressing Peter <em>all day </em> for what his favorite movie was. Sure, it was becoming a tradition for them to end school breaks with a movie night, and it bothered <em>him </em>too that they’d never worked out Peter’s favorite movie but...well, it wasn’t THAT big a deal!</p><p>“Max,” Tavia asked, as if intruding into his thoughts, “Remind me, what’s <em>your </em>favorite movie?”</p><p>He sighed, she <em>knew </em>the answer to this but she <em>kept asking</em>. “<em>Glory</em>, but I think you knew that...given that we just <em>finished </em>watching it, for the <em>sixth</em> movie night in a <em>row</em>!”</p><p>Tavia waved a hand dismissively. “That’s irrelevant. Point is, it’s good that we know, because then we can watch it together. That’s fun, right? And it’s informative about you and your personality, and all that?”</p><p>Peter groaned and buried his face in his hands. “It’s <em>Raiders of the Lost Ark, </em>okay? That’s my favorite movie.”</p><p>Max raised an eyebrow, curious now. “Isn’t that the racist one?”</p><p>“They’re all racist, Max,” Tavia said, while Peter looked up a little annoyed at her, “But the one that you were probably thinking of there was <em>Temple of Doom</em> . <em>Raiders of the Lost Ark </em> is about as good as they get, because it’s at least a movie by a Jewish filmmaker covering a Jewish artifact. Also, killing Nazis, which we can all agree earns at least a <em>few </em>social justice points. If we’re counting score, that is. Which we shouldn’t be, since that’s bad.”</p><p>Max looked at Peter, a little incredulous. “Isn’t your favorite book <em>Ulysses</em>?”</p><p>The cute boy blinked, clearly confused. “Yeah, and?”</p><p>“It’s just...it’s so <em>you</em>, Peter. I mean your favorite movie is like, a classic Spielberg action movie and your favorite book is like the most boring work of fiction I ever tried to read. I love it.”</p><p>He smiled brightly at Peter, who grinned back with that <em>unfairly </em> attractive crooked grin of his. “ I’m glad. I’d try and say the same for you but...I guess there’s just less to read into your favorite book being <em>The Martian</em>.”</p><p>Max laughed, and shrugged. “Yeah, man. I just like space, you know?”</p><p>“And the Civil War,” Tavia noted, needlessly, “Anyway, I’ve got <em>Raiders </em> on Blu-Ray, so I’ll put it on. After that, mind if I put in <em>20,000 Leagues Under the Sea</em>?”</p><p>Max was a bit confused at that. “I thought that was just a book.”</p><p>Tavia shook her head, as she pulled out the Blu-Ray from her impressively thick binder and began placing it in the player. “No, Disney adapted it into a movie back in the 50s. It’s mostly good, aside from the usual casual racism of the time. There’s this one awful sequence involving some ‘cannibal natives’, ugh, but that one’s from the book. The bit that gets to me personally is that they made Captain Nemo white.”</p><p>Peter spoke up, as he reached for the half-empty bowl of popcorn and sat it in his lap. “I thought Nemo was white in the book, too?”</p><p>If looks could kill, then Tavia’s sudden furious glare at Peter would’ve probably made him burst into flames. “No, Peter. He’s <em>Indian</em> in the book. His whole thing in the book is that he’s using his technological brilliance to wage a one-man war against the British Empire that despoiled his home country! It’s great, it’s the whole reason I love the book!”</p><p>She fell back into the couch and huffed. “Honestly, Peter, I thought better of you than <em>that</em>.”</p><p>“Well,” Peter said, shrinking back into the plush sofa, “I hadn’t read the book in forever.”</p><p>Tavia snorted. “Figures a gadjo wouldn’t know he’s Indian in the book.”</p><p>“Hey,” Peter shot back, mock-annoyed with the boy, “That’s not very nice! You take that back, or else I start calling you goy again!”</p><p>Max braced himself, as the two of them began what was a familiar old routine for them at this point. Peter would start one half of an argument in Yiddish, while Tavia would shoot back in Romani. He was pretty sure she had learned that one later on in life, because she used to clearly struggle with certain words, but both of them had a wonderful passion for these two beautiful languages that Max could in no way understand. Neither of them spoke the other’s non-English language, either, but they still did this. Max was pretty sure it was some kind of catharsis, since Tavia had no one to speak the language to at all and Peter had said it was his parents who’d taught it to him to begin with. They had a voice they couldn’t share with anyone else, so they found a way to share it with each other.</p><p>Despite his earlier irritation, Max found a niggling question pop into his head, as the movie began and the faux-argument broke down. “Hey, wait, Tavia...what’s your favorite movie, then?”</p><p>She turned to him, surprised. “I...well since you’re asking, it’s <em>The Matrix. </em> Trans allegory’s powerful, and all that. I also uh...Carrie-Anne Moss is fucking <em>hot </em>in that movie, okay?”</p><p>Max and Peter both shared a laugh, and briefly they playfully teased Tavia about being a useless lesbian. It was the kind of thing they did a lot when they weren’t at school, since...well, there things were different. Leaving aside the <em>generally </em>more hostile atmosphere of the place, Peter had always tried to keep his friendship with Max and Tavia out of the eyes of his ‘real’ friends. Flash Thompson first and foremost amongst them, Rand Robertson and a few others coming shortly after that.</p><p>Max didn’t get Peter, at all. He was this cute, smart guy with a great sense of humor, and he wasted his time at school hanging out with an idiot like Flash Thompson. Flash had known Peter even longer than Max had, but that still didn’t <em>explain </em> things. There was something more insidious to it, like Peter really couldn’t... or rather, <em>wouldn’t </em> disentangle himself from the more popular crowd at Midtown High. For years, it had seemed to Max like that was just Peter’s big flaw as a person. Increasingly, until recently anyway, it had seemed like Peter was just full-on warping into a complete asshole. The two of them (As well as Peter and Tavia, from what he heard from her) had been yelling at each other over the phone more often than having actual conversations, until for most of the preceding autumn they hadn’t talked at all. He’d been acting weird all semester; he’d been working out a <em>lot </em>and it showed, he was suddenly full of a weird zany energy Max couldn’t understand, and he was even more arrogant and snarky than usual. For a time, Max thought he’d started taking steroids or something.</p><p>That all changed though, the night Peter’s Uncle Ben died. Something about that incident seemed to <em>transform </em>Peter, a change that Max felt from the minute he sat shiva with Peter in Ben Parker’s memory. For a week he and Tavia had been the only ones besides Peter’s Aunt May to keep the boy any company, and by the end of it Peter was back to his old self. That is to say, he was the friendly, warm, personable (If a bit snarky) guy Max had known for most of his life, instead of the selfish asshole he’d been throughout the autumn of 2015. He hoped this change was permanent.</p><p>It was partway into the movie that, as if in response to Max’s unspoken words, Peter spoke up. “I...made a decision. About school. It’s something I’ve been thinking about since...since Uncle Ben died.”</p><p>Tavia immediately paused the movie, and looked at Peter seriously. Since they were in her own house, where the lighting was always dim in a way that suited her sensitive senses, she wasn’t wearing her usual dark shades. Those stormy blue eyes of hers were fixed intently on Peter, as if trying to figure him out before he could even explain himself. The girl looked at life like a problem waiting to be solved, and sometimes it seemed to Max like she looked at<em> people </em> that way, too. <em>Literally</em>, in this case.</p><p>“Are you going to come out? Because I don’t know if that’s as dramatic a decision as you think it is, Peter.”</p><p>Peter shook his head, then seemed to consider it, and looked at them both in turn. “No, I mean...yes, but that’s not all. I’m gonna...I’m gonna tell Flash off. Once and for all.”</p><p>Tavia and Max were both sitting upright now, staring at Peter. Neither of them spoke. Eventually, Peter continued.</p><p>“Like, I get it, guys. He’s an asshole. He’s a bigoted jerk who only hides the things he <em>really </em> thinks in public. He’s said some nasty shit over the years in private, and that hasn’t died down this past year. About the only good thing I can say about him is that he <em>isn’t </em> going to vote for Rumlow...at least, that’s what he <em>says</em>.”</p><p>Tavia inhaled, then let out a long sigh. “So...you’re just going to, what...call him out?”</p><p>Peter looked back at the girl with dead seriousness. “Fuck yeah I am. First thing in the morning, when I see him...I’m just going to tell him off. Right then, right there.”</p><p>When Max and Tavia said nothing, Peter slumped back. “Okay okay, I’m sorry. Dumb idea, I know, I just-”</p><p>Max interrupted him. “No, no it’s great! Like, Peter it’s <em>amazing </em>if you’re actually gonna do that. Please, like, tell Flash what an asshole he is, in front of everybody. That’d be amazing.”</p><p>Peter grinned, then suddenly perked up. He jerked around and looked out the window. Max and Tavia exchanged a confused look, and before either of them could ask what was wrong, Peter started asking frantic questions.</p><p>“Hey, Tavia, what’s that building? Does it have anything like, dangerous in it?”</p><p>Where Max was just confused, for some reason he could see Tavia was herself looking suddenly as tense as Peter. Like, they were at a McCarthyist hearing and he’d just started asking her whether she was a communist spy (Which, knowing Tavia, she definitely would’ve been).</p><p>“I...why do you ask? Kind of an odd question, I mean.”</p><p>He waved a hand dismissively. “Wait, I recognize it. Stark Industries’ New York HQ, right. Fuck. FUCK! Sorry, guys, I gotta go! I’ll see you later!”</p><p>Like that, he was out like a <em>shot, </em> bounding over the furniture like a thoroughbred steeplechase horse and out the door. He had grabbed his bag so quickly that Max didn’t even see him <em>do </em>it.</p><p>He turned to Tavia, letting his befuddlement show. “I...Tavia, did that seem weird to you?”</p><p>Tavia was giving a thousand-yard stare in response, and Max was now <em>extremely </em>worried. “Uh...Tavia?”</p><p>“I have to go too,” Tavia said, suddenly getting up, “And I’m going to need you to leave, since uh, it’s my apartment. Sorry. I’d rather let you stay but, I can’t. I forgot, I’ve got a meeting.”</p><p>Now that was some bullshit, but Max was sufficiently freaked out that he figured he was better off just bugging out and asking the two of them what the fuck all this was about <em>later</em> . He walked out the door with a terse farewell to Tavia, suddenly feeling very bitter. Sure, it happened but like...this was just a <em>weird </em>way to bail on someone, and both at once? Was there a conspiracy going on?</p><p>Max just shrugged it off, as he made his way for the subway home. Whatever it was, he hoped it wasn’t anything illegal or dangerous. And, most importantly, that they kept him out of it.</p><hr/><p>Stark’s New York Headquarters were as gaudy and ostentatious as the man who designed it. Or rather, as the man who paid for it to be designed. The windows had this bizarre golden tint to them and were slightly rounded in a way that made the facade look like a honeycomb.</p><p>It wasn’t a great place to work, especially for a security guard like Bess, who womanned the back entrance. She’d been there for just two weeks, and she was already contemplating demanding the regional manager transfer her to another site. Her supervisor, who for some reason <em>wasn’t </em>from her own security firm but was one of Stark’s people, treated her like garbage. She spent all day sitting at this desk, waiting for nobody to show up, guarding nothing of importance and doodling in her notebook. Okay, that last one was fun, but it wasn’t her <em>job</em>.</p><p>She was feeling like it might be time to throw in the towel on this whole ‘focusing on the job’ thing and just put in her earbuds, when there was a tapping sound at the door. With some surprise, she looked up, and all but <em>gasped </em>in shock.</p><p>Standing there, outside the door, was Tony fucking Stark. It was him, no doubt; he had the same awful little goatee, the same messy black hair, the same stupid pretty eyes, the same heavy SoCal tan, and he was dressed in a suit that looked like it had been on the wrong end of an angry kangaroo before he got to wearing it. He even had a little ID printed with his name on it, as if there could <em>be </em>any doubt.</p><p>“Hey,” he was slurring, knocking on the door, “Hey. Hey can you let me in? This is my office, I forgot uh...stuff.”</p><p>He pressed his little badge to the door’s scanner, and it didn’t buzz. “Why isn’t...why won’t you work…”</p><p>Bess sighed, before speaking into the mic. “Excuse me, sir? Did you keep your ID next to your phone or something?”</p><p>He looked up at her, surprised. “Uh, yeah. Oh, right uh...musta gotten demagged...fuck...”</p><p>Well that definitely matched the general behavior she’d heard about, with regards to Tony Stark. Bess pondered her options; on the one hand, she had very specific instructions to not let people in unless they were scheduled. On the other hand, and this was very important, it was Tony Stark. If she called her boss, and Tony got annoyed, he could ruin her <em>life</em>. Worst thing that happened if she let him in when she wasn’t supposed to was that she’d get fired, which honestly she could live with anyway at this point.</p><p>“Can you let me in?” He asked her plaintively, sounding almost pathetic enough that she wanted to hug him, if only <em>very </em>briefly. He probably stank of cognac and urine at this point.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, one sec.” She spoke into the mic, before hitting the ‘open’ button. The door’s lock clicked, and Stark gingerly pressed on it. It didn’t budge.</p><p>“It’s not opening...” he said, sounding more forlorn and confused than anything else. Jesus, he <em>was </em>wasted.</p><p>“It’s a pull door, sir.” She did her best not to laugh at the drunken billionaire, as he awkwardly pulled the door open and stumbled his way into the building. He just nodded in her direction as he ambled by, and Bess decided against logging his arrival. Something told her that she’d just have to answer more questions that way.</p><p>When Stark had finally disappeared into the elevator, she let out a sigh of relief. The most interesting part of the day was over, and Bess felt herself unexpectedly glad. Something about that had put her on edge, like she was going to get into a <em>lot </em>of trouble for that.</p><p>The security guard shrugged. It was all way, way above her paygrade. If that was secretly a shapeshifting alien or something, it was some superhero’s problem, not hers. Deliberately not letting herself dwell on the weird incident, she went back to doodling in her little notebook, and waiting for the day to be over.</p><hr/><p>Back in the elevator, “Tony Stark” was smirking smugly to himself. That had been as easy as he’d expected. The poor woman had <em>no </em>idea what a mistake she’d just made. Ah, well, it wasn’t her fault really.</p><p>It was his, for being so good at his job. There was a reason nobody knew of the Chameleon; he was the best impersonator in the world, not the most famous. That was the real testament to his skill. The trick was always to make the mark want to get rid of the disguised individual as quickly as possible, so they wouldn’t investigate things too closely. You can be a picture perfect match for the object of your impersonation, but there will always be odd questions. Tony Stark, a notorious drunkard, gave him a wonderfully easy way to excuse any such abnormalities.</p><p>The elevator brought him up to the tenth floor, where the office he sought was. His employer, mysterious though she was, had been very reliable in furnishing him with the tools he’d need. The Chameleon looked down at the little flash drive in his hand, fiddling with it in his fingers. This little device contained the infiltration software he’d need to get into the little vault, and secure the prize.</p><p>He stepped out of the elevator, and quickly scanned the hallway. Wary of any cameras, he made sure to look as lost and confused as ‘Stark’ surely would be, if he were drunkenly stumbling into his own office.</p><p>It was so simple, for once. No long term scams, no blackmail tricks, nothing with too many moving parts. A quick smash and grab, not the sort of job he usually ran but very profitable. Even better, he had a reliable getaway for once- and that was a <em>backup</em> . A <em>backup, </em> would marvels never cease? Criminals were really getting good these days, to actually think things through. Maybe he <em>could </em>do business with these people again.</p><p>He quickly found his target; one of Tony Stark’s private offices, labeled <em>Special Projects</em>. His employer had furnished a lot of the intel, though Chameleon knew plenty of it himself already. “Special Projects” was code word for the study of some strange samples they’d recovered from the moon. Way above even his impressive paygrade,</p><p>The door was locked...but accessible by passcode. Chameleon chuckled to himself as he entered the code; 1234. The door clicked open. How the Hell had Tony Stark gotten this far when his passwords were this awful?</p><p>He strode into the room like he owned it, and quickly got to scanning it for what he sought. There, on the wall; a small safe, sealed with a classic tumbler lock...and it had been left ajar. He had to resist the urge to laugh out loud, because this had clearly been his lucky day. With a feigned drunken stagger, Chameleon gamboled up to the little safe and gently reached inside. There he saw many small vials of what he presumed to be a transparent metal and hopefully <em>not </em>delicate glass, all filled with a glowing purple vapor.</p><p>The so-called terrigen mist, or just ‘terrigen’ as his employer tended to call it. A gas that had the potential to radically alter humanity’s destiny, or so she said. If he thought he could get away with it, he’d steal a few for himself to sell to a third party. But, that was bad form; besides, the so-called “Master Planner” was paying him <em>more </em>than enough for how little effort this had involved so far.</p><p>Now all that was left was to get out of here with the goods. He looked out the window, and pressed a button on his watch. Within less than a minute, a familiar crimson set of wings silently rose up against the window. A magnificent stealth system invented by a brilliant mind, whose work had been stolen by Oscorp through means of duplicity and annoying legalese. Chameleon <em>hated </em>that kind of theft; at least <em>his </em>kind involved some actual <em>work </em>on the thief’s part.</p><p>The Vulture rose up against the window, her face concealed behind a sturdy and featureless helmet vaguely shaped like the head of the bird of prey from which she had taken her name. Of course, Chameleon <em>knew </em> Adrian Toombs was the one behind the mask. He knew <em>everyone</em>’s secrets...except those of the Master Planner. But, that was a matter for another day.</p><p>He walked over to the window, and opened it up. “Run into any trouble on your way here?”</p><p>The Vulture laughed, the sound distorted by her helmet’s speakers. “Obviously not. Nobody even saw me. The new invisibility shielding works just fine. Damned uncomfortable though, and I’m flying blind with it on!”</p><p>Chameleon nodded. “That is sort of the problem with making light pass through you...”</p><p>The Vulture cut him off. “Let’s save the shop talk. Did you get the goods?”</p><p>He grinned. “Oh yes, I did.” He held up a vial of the terrigen mist, and placed it into the little cargo slot designed for it on the Vulture’s harness.</p><p>His partner grunted. “Well good, now go get the rest! And hurry, I don’t like hovering here where I can be seen!”</p><p>The Chameleon nodded and swiftly headed back to the little safe, and hurriedly took the vials and put them into one bag. As he did so though, he heard the sound of <em>something </em>coming down the hall.</p><p>He looked out there; nothing. What was that noise he’d heard? There was nobody there, nobody coming from the elevator…</p><p>Then, with alarm, he noticed that the opposing room’s window was opened. There had been no-one else on this floor, as far as he knew. What was going on?</p><p>The experienced spy knew a heist about to be busted when he saw it. He raced for the window, and held the bag out of it. “Quickly, take it, someone’s on their way!”</p><p>Toombs seemed surprised at that, but nodded. “Alright then, but you’re gonna need to find your own exit if that’s what you want!”</p><p>He grinned. “The Chameleon always has a way out!”</p><p>The Vulture didn’t reply, simply allowing Chameleon to carefully hook the bag full of vials onto her back. As he did so, he heard the door open behind him. He spun around even as the Vulture shimmered back into invisibility and silently began flying away.</p><p>Standing there in the doorway was something...unusual. A person, clad in a unitard of red and blue...silk? It looked like silk, but who would make something so garish out of good mulberry silk? No, wait, the texture was wrong for that. His inner fashionista was shoved aside though as his brain caught up; the webbing pattern, the web symbol, and the reports he’d heard of a new superhero patrolling the streets of New York City.</p><p>Adopting Tony Stark’s drunken voice again, Chameleon let a dopey grin come to her face. “Hey...you’re that spider-guy...”</p><p>The unitarded figure stood there with his arms folded, and quirked his head. “Yep. I’m Spider-Man. Mind telling me what’s going on here, sir?”</p><p>Something was <em>very </em>odd about his tone. He sounded young...and also very suspicious of this scene. What had brought him here, to begin with?</p><p>“I was just checking out my new stuff...stuff...uh...stuff. It’s from the moon. What’re you doing in my office, Spider-Boy?”</p><p>The Spider-Man waved a hand dismissively, and casually began pacing around in a way that made Chameleon <em>very </em>nervous. “Oh nothing much, just checking out the weird big flying red bird thing that was just outside the window. Also that safe, you know, the empty one? Why is it empty?”</p><p>Chameleon blinked in surprise. How had he seen the Vulture and then come around the other side of the building? “I uh...huh. I might’ve...might’ve dropped the bag out the window...oops...”</p><p>The young superhero shook his head. “Mighty clumsy of you, Mr. Stark! Or rather, <em>not </em>Mr. Stark.”</p><p>The practiced spy refused to be suckered by such an old trick. Spider-Man was clearly trying to bait him into giving himself away, he didn’t <em>know </em> yet. He <em>couldn’t </em>know yet.</p><p>“I’m definitely Tony Stark, though. I gotta badge...” The fake Tony Stark said as he held up his little fake ID.</p><p>“Oh yeah, that badge sure does say ‘Tony Stark’ on it,” Spider-Man began, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Trouble is, last time I checked Tony Stark’s in Malibu right now, probably drowning in beautiful women and swimming in huge stacks of money like a cartoon duck. Yet here <em>you </em>are, suspiciously taking stuff from his office.”</p><p>Okay, so maybe he <em>did </em> know. Now was still not the time to panic; the more he stalled, the more time he bought for Vulture to gain a lead on this web-slinger, if the Spider-Man even had a <em>chance </em>of catching her. “What’s so suspish about it? Is my office, I can take stuff if I wanna.”</p><p>The Spider-Man facepalmed. “Alright, I don’t even really care <em>who </em>you are at this point. Hell, I don’t know if I care even if you were the real Tony Stark!”</p><p>Before Chameleon could react, the Spider-Man pressed his fingers to his palm. A jet of white fluid shot out of a little hole in his suit and bound up his legs, quickly becoming something solid and <em>tight</em>. He tried to jump, but found his feet had been glued to the floor, and simply fell over.</p><p>Without warning, the Spider-Man jumped over to him and tugged on the black wig, pulling it off along with his pseudoskin mask to reveal the featureless white mask he had on underneath.</p><p>“Okay, so the man in the mask was...a man in another mask?” Spider-Man tried to pull off the white mask as well, but found <em>that </em>wasn’t coming off.</p><p>“This mask doesn’t go unless I want it to,” the Chameleon said, no longer disguising his voice as the drunk Tony Stark, “And I’m not going anywhere, either.”</p><p>Spider-Man tilted his head again, and Chameleon was surprised to see that the little white visors seemed to narrow in suspicion. “I mean, yeah. Those webs are spider-silk, you’re not breaking out, you know? Who are you, anyway?”</p><p>“I am the Chameleon! Master infiltrator! Spy! Greatest master of disguise in the entire world!”</p><p>“Chameleon, huh? So you change colours to fit your mood?”</p><p>The spy was baffled. “What? No, I disguise myself to match my surroundings, like a Chameleon!”</p><p>“Chameleons don’t do that, you’re thinking of octopuses. Oooh, you could call yourself the Octopus!”</p><p>“What a ridiculous name,” the Chameleon all but hissed, “An <em>octopus</em> . You think I would be better off naming myself after <em>calimari</em>?!”</p><p>Spider-Man sighed. “Fine, you do you Mr. ‘Chameleon who can’t change colours’. Where’s your bird friend off to?”</p><p>“Why should I tell you that?”</p><p>“Because if you don’t, I’ve got nothing better to do than peel that mask off and escort you to the nearest NYPD precint, so they can see what they can run you in on.”</p><p>“Hah! They’ll find nothing! My record is clean, Spider-Man! And you have no real proof I did anything!”</p><p>Spider-Man pointed to a camera over his shoulder, the record light still on.</p><p>“Oh fine,” Chameleon said, feigning defeat, “I’ll tell you. My partner is the Vulture, she’s equipped with an experimental fight harness, and she’s invisible right now. She’s heading for her secret base on Staten Island to rendezvous with our employer, and you’ve already surrendered the lead to her.”</p><p>The superhero’s eyes went wide, but he said nothing before leaping out the window. The Chameleon slumped forward, groaning. He began working to slip himself out of the shoes and pants he had on, beneath which he wore a sleek blue jumpsuit. It was slow going, and soon enough <em>some </em> guard would notice him on the security feed. When that happened, he’d have <em>very </em>little time to get out of here.</p><p>Suddenly, there was the sound of something crashing against the walls. The Chameleon craned his neck to see a metal tentacle wrap around the inside of the wall, and a black-clad figure slip inside the window frame. On her back was a metal harness, and protruding from it were four ten-meter-long tentacles made of some powerful metal even he didn’t know the right name of.</p><p><em>How did </em> you <em>know to get here, so quickly? </em>He pondered it to himself, amazed at how she’d appeared almost the second Spider-Man had vanished.</p><p>Doctor Octopus looked down on him, and sighed. “Chameleon, what happened?”</p><p>He groaned. “Spider-Man happened! The new superhero in this city! Get me out of here, Octopus! We have to hurry, he’s chasing the Vulture!”</p><p>“She’ll handle herself.” Doctor Octopus replied cooly, beginning to cut through the webbing with one of her tentacles while reaching out for the camera with another. A small metal filament extruded from the arm and into the camera, and there was an odd buzzing sound as she presumably hacked it.</p><p>“How can you-”</p><p>The eight-limbed genius held up a hand. “Don’t bother asking. I couldn’t explain it to you even if I wanted to. Anyway, the security footage has been altered appropriately to make it seem like nothing happened here at all for the entire day.”</p><p>“Why not edit it to make it look like Spider-Man stole the mist?”</p><p>“Because, Chameleon, that might invite more questions than we want. If they go after him and don’t find it, they might end up <em>believing </em> him when he inevitably tells them that <em> we </em>stole it. The Master Planner won’t tolerate that kind of mistake. Besides, his instructions were clear; get in, get out, leave no signs we were here.”</p><p>She examined the webbing. “This is...curious. From what I’ve heard of Spider-Man, his webs dissolve after a few hours, so if we’re lucky there will be no trace of anything having happened here. The terrigen mist will simply be gone, and none will be any the wiser.”</p><p>Before he could say anything in protest, Doctor Octopus hoisted the Chameleon up in her tentacles. “Come along, Chameleon. We’re getting back to base, <em>now</em>.”</p><p>“Why not help the Vulture, if you’re so concerned with Spider-Man foiling the Master Planner’s master plan?”</p><p>He could make out a bitter smirk on her face. “Because the Vulture has already failed. All we can do now is mitigate the damage...”</p><p> </p><p>Spider-Man cursed to himself as he swung across the Manhattan skyline. He’d let that two-bit con man stall him when he could’ve just nabbed him right away. Now he had to chase an invisible, silent bird-person across New York before she reached Staten Island with whatever-the-Hell she’d stolen from Tony freaking Stark’s office!</p><p><em>Could be worse</em> , he thought to himself, <em>Could be a school night. Then I’d </em> really <em>be in trouble. </em></p><p>He shot out another web to swing from another skyscraper, and heard the faint buzz that indicated he was half-empty. That wasn’t good. He had been chasing the Vulture (The Hell kind of supervillain name was that?) for a hot minute and he’d already burned through <em>way </em>too much webbing.</p><p>How was he even going to find her? She was invisible, or so the Chameleon said. What could he use to track her down?</p><p>Wait. He remembered something he’d heard about the other day; some military firm, Halliburton or OsCorp or whoever, had recently released a brand-new stealth flying system for sale to the US Government. It was like, a huge wing harness, and it kind of resembled a bird. Maybe that was why she was calling herself the Vulture…</p><p><em>And if I remember the report properly, </em> Spider-Man thought, grinning beneath his mask as he continued to swing in the general direction of Staten Island, <em>The suit runs on </em> <em>a new kind of biodiesel. </em> <em>At least, it can...but if it was running on </em> regular <em>diesel I think I’d have smelled it by now. </em> <em>If it’s running on internal combustion, then it’s going to be </em> hot <em>. </em></p><p>He stopped for a bit, and looked back towards the window where the Vulture had left from. Reaching into his little utility belt, he pulled out a handy-dandy set of thermal goggles that fit overtop his eye mask. He blinked to adjust, as the blurry mess of the New York skyline filtered into view. Heat signatures were much less easy to read than a classic visual scan, but <em>still</em>.</p><p>There! Not too far from him, a <em>big </em>shape, running hot and moving….actually kinda slowly. Huh. If she was invisible, then she was probably flying blind. Can’t see if the light’s passing through you, after all. That meant he’d be able to catch up to her pretty easily!</p><p>With a triumphant laugh, Spider-Man swung in the direction of the cloaked bird of prey. He was momentarily surprised that she didn’t seem to notice him, but then he remembered that she was flying blind. Of <em>course </em> she didn’t see him, and didn’t know what to make of the distinctive <em>thwip </em>of his web shooter. Once he was within ten meters, he fired off a barrage of web at her!</p><p>The Vulture hissed as she flickered into visibility, the webs messing with her little cloak somehow. Spider-Man leapt onto her back, and clung on with all his sticky might. There was a big sack tied to her back, and he could see it faintly glowing with <em>something </em>inside. Probably whatever she and that weirdo named after a lizard stole from Stark.</p><p>“Gah! Get off me!” The Vulture screamed, her voice actually <em>almost </em>menacing, with how deep and electronically distorted it was.</p><p>“Gladly,” Spider-Man replied with a cocky tone, “Once I’ve seen your license. You <em>do </em>have a license for weird glowing stuff from space, right?”</p><p>She didn’t reply to the quip, and simply did an aileron roll to try and shake him. It didn’t work, and thankfully it didn’t let the bag slip loose, either. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be good if she dropped it on the crowd of cars on the busy street below them.</p><p>The bird-lady all but roared from behind her helmet. “What does it take to <em>shake </em>you, you little tick!”</p><p>“Hey!” He shouted, indignant, “I’m a <em>Spider-Man</em> , not a <em>Tick-Man</em>. Wrong kind of arachnid!”</p><p>The Vulture, for some reason, didn’t seem to care all that much. She just kept flying, only <em>now </em> she was accelerating to <em>crazy </em> speeds. Spider-Man struggled to hold on, feeling his stickyness straining. He crawled into the wind, and grabbed onto the front of one of her wings. It was a more secure grip, though this part of the wings felt <em>especially </em>warm.</p><p>“Gah, how do you wear this and not roast like a fried chicken!”</p><p>“Proper insulation, and a good cooling system,” she replied, then added, “And I’m a <em>Vulture</em> , not a chicken. Wrong kind of bird <em>.”</em></p><p>“Ouch! I’ve had my own zinger turned back on me!”</p><p>Spider-Man didn’t like the idea of trying to knock her out; not because he was all that worried he’d kill her, at least not <em>just </em>that. The big issue was that he doubted this thing worked on autopilot. If he took her out, the whole kit and kaboodle would plummet back to the ground, him and the goods included, and they’d all go up in smoke. How was he going to take her down?</p><p>With a sigh, he realized he didn’t have many options to stop her <em>and </em>keep the goods out of her hands. While he hated Stark, he doubted this lady had the best use in mind for this weird space stuff. With one hand still on the wing, he pointed his free hand at the bag and shot at it with his webbing. Then, carefully, he let go of the Vulture’s wing and hooked himself around so that the bag would come off its little hook without ripping and be pulled by his web up into his hands. He shot a web at a nearby building, and pulled himself swiftly to its rooftop.</p><p>The Vulture shouted out something Spider-Man’s Aunt would’ve wiped his mouth with soap out for saying as she flew away. The giant crimson-red set of wings and their black-suited pilot swung around towards Spider-Man. For a moment, he thought she was going to charge at him or something.</p><p>Instead, she just glared down on him, the glowing red visor of her featureless, beaklike helmet visible for the first time.</p><p>“You’re lucky I can’t risk damaging the goods without risking my own neck, Spider-Man!”</p><p>He laughed, then suddenly saw an opportunity to get the goods<em> and</em> capture this new supervillain “Oh yeah? Is that your reason? Or are you really just a big chicken after all?”</p><p>The visor seemed to flash, though it was probably Spider-Man’s imagination. “No. Just a woman with more sense than greed.”</p><p>To his disappointment, she then turned around and rocketed off in the direction <em>opposite </em> Staten Island. He <em>could </em>probably still chase her down...but the goods weren’t likely to be safe if he just left them here.</p><p><em>Damned responsibility, </em> he thought to himself, as he began swinging towards the one person he might be able to trust with this stuff, <em>Getting in the way of a good super-fight...</em></p><hr/><p>With a few quick swings, Spider-Man found himself on a building adjacent to one of the most famous office buildings in New York; the Baxter Building, home of the Fantastic Four. His life, along with so many others, had never been the same since Reed Richards and his friends had returned from their unauthorized space flight to explore some weird space cloud and study what Dr. Richards had called the “Power Cosmic”. Since then they’d fought monsters, an underground warlord named afer a rodent, shape-shifting aliens, and some weirdo calling himself ‘Doctor Doom’, who was allegedly a King.</p><p>Spidey swallowed. He had been intending to meet with the Fantastic Four at some point, to maybe coordinate their superheroing or something, but the idea still filled him with a sense of apprehension. He had to give this weird stuff to <em>somebody </em>though, and if Stark had done such a bad job protecting it he couldn’t leave it in his hands. Steeling himself for a confrontation with his idols, Spider-Man scaled the Baxter Building’s wall, big sack of weird alien stuff in hand.</p><p>When he reached the penthouse, he found that all the windows were closed. Perfect. So he couldn’t just leave a note saying “Dear Fantastic Four: Please take care of this glowing purple stuff I stole from a scary flying lady who named herself after a carrion-eating bird. Love, YFN Spider-Man.”</p><p>With some reluctance, he used his sticky fingers to get a grip on one window, then used his super-strength to force it open enough to break the lock so he could get inside. No alarms seemed to go off, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t some <em>silent </em>alarm he needed to be wary about.</p><p>The inside of the Fantastic Four’s personal penthouse was <em>awe-inspiring</em> . All around he saw little trophies of their adventures, paintings, and a lot of very out of place posters of half-naked men and women. Probably the work of the infamous Jenny Storm, that flaming bisexual. There was a flight of stairs leading down to a loft, which he suspected was where their rooms were. Down here he could see a nice kitchen, a living area, and what <em>looked </em>to be some kind of...lab.</p><p>None of them were home. Okay, so maybe he <em>could </em>get away with just leaving a note. He looked for a good place to leave the sack, his gaze eventually falling on their kitchen counter. Perfect! No way they’d miss it if he left it there. Carefully, he sat it down on the polished granite, and pulled a piece of paper and a pencil out of his utility belt (You never knew when you’d need <em>those</em>).</p><p>As he finished writing the note though, his Spider-Sense tingled. Reflexively, he jumped away and clung to the wall behind him. A jet of flame blasted the floor where he’d been standing. He turned to look where it had come from.</p><p>Flying there in midair was a figure wreathed in flames that he recognized as the Human Torch, Jenny Storm. He couldn’t make out any facial features, but he had a <em>feeling </em> she was <em>mad</em>.</p><p>“You! The weird Spider-Creep! What’re you doing in our house!”</p><p>“I’m glad you asked! See I was fighting this bird person-”</p><p>Before he could finish the sentence, the Human Torch shot another jet of flame at him. Spidey <em>barely </em> dodged it in time, and he was very glad the wall he’d been clinging to was stone. Actually it looked like <em>all </em> the walls were stone, which was a little weird...unless, of course, Reed had the place remodeled <em>specifically </em>to deal with Jenny’s temper. Huh. Maybe all the stuff was flame-retardant, actually.</p><p>“Wrong answer!” Storm shouted at him, before letting another fireball loose. Again, Spider-Man leapt; but this time he was done just evading attacks. If he was going to get out of here, he’d need a window to...well, reach the window. With a bit of reluctance (This was after all <em>their </em> house and it seemed kinda rude to destroy <em>their </em>stuff), he shot a string of web at one of the comfy-looking chairs and flung it upwards in Storm’s direction.</p><p>The Human Torch barely saw it coming, and only partly dodged it. The chair winged her leg, and she yelped in pain before her flames seemed to flicker briefly before going out with a puff of smoke, and she fell towards the ground. The blow hadn’t knocked her unconscious, but her flames weren’t coming back and she was clearly in some pain. Now that he could see her clearly, Peter had to admit that the Human Torch was, no pun intended, <em>hot</em> . Blonde, buff as Hell, and wearing that <em>extremely </em>flattering Fantastic Four uniform.</p><p><em>If </em> <em>you weren’t trying to kill me, </em> he thought, <em>I might be flirting with you. </em> <em>Then again, I’ve heard you flirt with other people trying to kill </em> you <em>, so maybe I might as well. </em></p><p>He slapped his own head, chiding himself for getting distracted. Now was not the time to let the little Spider-Man take the wheel! He had to get out of here! With some reluctance, Spidey readied up his web-shooters.</p><p>But just as he thought he might be able to web her up and get out of here, a deep, rumbling voice speaking with a thick Brooklyn accent called out behind him. “HEY, YOU! GET AWAY FROM THE GIRL!”</p><p>His Spider-sense flared, and he evaded a chair thrown at <em>him</em> , that smashed into the wall behind him. Spidey turned to see a man made of orange-brown rock standing there, his gnarled face twisted into a snarling grimace. He was a little surprised to see the Thing in a bathrobe, but he couldn’t wear those Fantastic pants <em>all </em> the time, Spidey guessed. Suppressing the tangent his brain wanted to go on (Where <em>does </em>the Thing buy his trousers?) Spidey raised his hands defensively.</p><p>“Hey, hey! This is all a misunderstanding!”</p><p>“Sure don’t look like no misunderstanding to me!” The Thing bellowed, before charging towards Spidey. “Looks more like it’s <em>clobberin’ </em>time!”</p><p>Oh that wasn’t good. Spidey leapt out of the way of the charging rock-man, and was dismayed to see he was <em>much </em>faster than he looked. Grimm didn’t keep going and slam into the wall (and maybe through it) like Spider-Man had hoped, but spun almost perfectly on his heel.</p><p>“Youse thinks ya so clever, huh?”</p><p>Spidey adopted a defensive stance. “I mean I <em>am </em>a science major...”</p><p>The Thing charged at him, fists swinging. Improvising, Spidey leapt into the air overhead and fired off twin shots of web at each arm. With a tug as he flipped over the Thing, the two fists came slamming into the Thing’s own face. Ben Grimm toppled over to the floor, groaning in pain.</p><p>“Hey Thing,” Spidey began, despite an inner voice trying to tell him it was bad form, “Stop hitting yourself!”</p><p>The Thing groaned in irritation, before climbing unsteadily back to his feet. “That was a dirty trick, ya little putz.”</p><p>“Hey, don’t you go calling me a putz, ya alterkaker!”</p><p>Grimm’s blue eyes went wide. “Wha...”</p><p>“What, did ya think I was some Goy comin’ in here uninvited?”</p><p>Before the Thing could answer, the Human Torch seemed to blaze back to life. Spider-Man cursed, and flipped away from the spot he was standing before his Spider-sense even went off. As he expected, the Torch immediately whipped a fireball at the spot of wood paneling. It left a small mark on the floor, but didn’t catch fire. Wow, Reed Richards really <em>had </em>made fireproof wood, huh?</p><p>“Ben! That little creep broke our window!” Jenny Storm shouted, fully engulfed in flames again.</p><p>“What?!” Ben Grimm replied, before turning to glare at Spider-Man, his blue eyes full of nothing but menace now.</p><p>“Oh, good,” Spider-Man said, swallowing his fear, “And here I was worrying this’d be <em>easy</em>.”</p><p>The Human Torch charged in the air towards him, firing off fireball after fireball. Did this girl have <em>any </em> other ideas? The Amazing Spider-Man kept doing his amazing backflips to dodge each one, before webbing up a lamp and hurling it at the Human Torch. Unlike the chair, she saw it coming and blasted at it with her fireball; unfortunately, the ball didn’t seem to actually <em>do </em>anything, and the lamp slammed into her chest.</p><p>Spider-Man smirked beneath his mask again, as the Human Torch’s flames went out and she fell to the ground yet again. He was right, Reed <em>had </em> made <em>everything </em>around here fireproof.</p><p>But there was still the Thing to deal with, and Spider-Man narrowly evaded another blow. The Thing’s fist slammed into the floor, punching a little hole in it and making the whole room feel like it was shaking. <em>That </em> wasn’t good, Spider-Man noted. If the Thing got too reckless, he could take the whole Baxter Building out. In theory, at least. Hopefully Dr. Fantastic had made <em>some </em>countermeasures against that.</p><p>“Jenny!” A woman’s voice called out behind Spider-Man. He turned, and saw...well, nothing, but he had a feeling he’d see Susan Storm, the Invisible Woman standing there. If she hadn’t been invisible, anyway. He briefly considered switching on his thermal goggles...but then realized he must’ve dropped them while clinging to the Vulture earlier. Whoops.</p><p>“I’m okay...” the Human Torch called out weakly, beneath the shattered remains of the lamp Spidey had lobbed at her chest.</p><p>“What is going on?!” The Invisible Woman shouted, which Spider-Man tried to trace back to its source. He was having a hard time listening in though, because his brain was <em>mostly </em>occupied with dodging the mighty blows the Thing was leveling at him.</p><p>“This little punk,” the Thing said, between his repeated attempts to prove that it <em>was </em>in fact ‘clobbering time’ and not merely ‘punching the air time’, “Came in here and broke our window and he dropped Jenny!”</p><p>His spider-sense <em>flared, </em> and he instinctively leapt up. <em>High. </em> Clinging to the ceiling, he saw a shimmering blue barrier form around the spot where he’d been. So, the Invisible Woman was trying to trap him, eh? That was really, really, <em>really</em> bad news.</p><p>Recognizing that staying in one place would only make it easier, Spider-Man swung down from the ceiling atop their refrigerator, and looked around. He couldn’t <em>see </em>her, obviously...but his heightened sense of hearing finally caught on to the faint sound of footsteps, somewhere on the staircase leading to the loft.</p><p>Before she could send another shield his way, Spider-Man fired off most of his remaining webbing to cover the stair, and hooted in delight when he saw the outline of the Invisible Woman wrapped up a cocoon of spider-silk. She struggled, and her invisibility faded. As the stuff hardened her heard her scream in irritation, and he pumped his fist.</p><p>“That’s <em>two </em> Invisible Women I’ve taken down today!” He then turned to face the Thing again, and grimaced. There wasn’t a whole lot he could <em>do </em>to the Thing. He wasn’t strong enough to knock him out, his webbing couldn’t restrain him, and he didn’t want to risk killing Grimm or anyone else by dropping them out the window.</p><p>He briefly considered just leaving, then and there. He could manage it, probably, and he’d have accomplished his goal. The weird alien stuff would be delivered, with his note, and he’d <em>not </em>be clobbered. But he didn’t like that. He didn’t like the idea of leaving here like he’d been some intruder, letting them think he was some common crook using his powers for his own gain. His pride couldn’t stand the idea of his idol, Reed Richards, thinking that he was just some freak who came in here to cause trouble.</p><p>Besides, the rational part of his brain was adding to rationalize his decision, if he <em>didn’t </em>stay to clear his name, then they’d add him to their list of enemies. Did he really want to be on the FF’s naughty list, in between the Namor the Sub-Mariner and Super-Skrull?</p><p>He looked at Jenny Storm, struggling to get back to her feet. He’d really knocked the wind out of her, but she still had some fight. Good. That gave him an <em>idea</em>.</p><p>“Hey, Jenny!” He shouted, waving his arms at the dazed Human Torch. “Over here! You still haven’t gotten me!”</p><p>She frowned, her blue eyes narrowing. “Stupid Spider-guy! I’m gonna fry you for hurting my big sis!”</p><p>“That’s the spirit!” He said, before leaping across the kitchen area until he was atop the living room’s couch, not too far from the furious-looking Thing. He had to move <em>fast </em>here.</p><p>Ben Grimm swung at him again, and this time Spidey expertly dodged the blow and landed right atop the Thing’s head. He balanced there precariously, laughing as he kept jumping to evade the Thing’s attempts to swat him off. None of the blows were landing on Grimm himself; clearly that trick wasn’t going to work twice.</p><p>That was fine. He had a <em>new </em>trick in mind.</p><p>“Hey, Jenny! Jenny! Jenny-Jenny-Jenny! Jenny Diver! Come on! Try and hit me!”</p><p>The Human Torch blazed back to life, and pulled back her arm. She didn’t seem to fully process quite <em>who </em>she was aiming at, along with Spider-Man.</p><p>The Thing sure did, though. “Wait, kid no don’t!” He waved his arms, trying to get her to stop.</p><p>“Stop it, Ben! You’re not my boss, and neither is Reed! You can’t tell me what to do!”</p><p>She pulled back her arm, which <em>blazed </em>with flame, then pulled it forward, ready to fire-</p><p>“Break it up! Now!” A deep, commanding voice called out. Two blue arms stretched out from nowhere, one grabbing Jenny’s hand and squelching the flame. The other reached over and pulled Spidey off the thing, forcing him to the ground with an ‘Oof’.</p><p>Spider-Man turned his head, and saw that the voice had come from just who he’d thought; Dr. Reed Richards, standing there in all his Fantastic glory. He was an older man, though not as old as the greying hair at his temples suggested. His handsome face was stern, and right now Spidey could see why the FF fan forums agreed on Denzel Washington as the ideal person to play him if they ever made a FF movie (For some reason they were going with Cuba Gooding Jr., which made <em>no </em> sense to Spider-Man, personally). His dark eyes were fixed on Spidey, who suddenly felt <em>very </em>ashamed of himself, regardless of how much he actually felt he was to blame.</p><p>“Can someone tell me why my fiance is covered in spider silk, why one of our lamps just got broken, and why Jenny tried to incinerate somebody for breaking into our house?”</p><p>Nobody said anything, until Spider-Man finally raised a hand. “Uh, I can, if it’s ok, Dr. Fantastic, sir.”</p><p>Dr. Fantastic nodded in his direction. “Alright, please, go ahead and explain yourself. Let’s start with your name.”</p><p>“Well,” Spider-Man began, adopting a slightly silly tone as he stood up and dusted himself off, “My name is Spider-Man and I-”</p><p>“Not that name,” Reed said, folding his arms and adopting the most dad-ish tone Spider-Man had ever heard someone talk with besides his Uncle, “Your <em>real </em>name.”</p><p>Spidey’s eyes went wide. “But I...secret identity...gotta...”</p><p>“Young man,” Dr. Richards began, slowly walking towards him and the stupefied Ben Grimm, “You have broken into our home, assaulted my fiance, and damaged some of our property. I’m willing to believe you had good intentions, and this is all a misunderstanding. I don’t intend to turn you over to the police, and I certainly don’t intend to out you to anyone. I just want to know who I’m <em>really </em> talking to here. For this to be resolved, we need to establish <em>trust</em>.”</p><p>He put a comforting hand on the younger man’s shoulder, and Spider-Man felt something warm rising in his chest. “I know it can be scary. Trusting other people isn’t something that comes naturally to...” he paused, and took a deep breath, “To a lot of us. We’ve had our trust betrayed, or we haven’t had a need to put it in anyone else. But without it, without that bond of trust, we can’t ever have peace. In our hearts, or in our homes. Do you understand?”</p><p>Spider-Man nodded and, reluctantly, gripped his mask. He slowly pulled it off; beneath it was the face of a pale young man, hair a messy mop of brown hair parted at the middle. He looked up at Reed Richards with soft, brown eyes full of awe and regret.</p><p>“My name’s Peter Benjamin Parker,” Peter began, steadying himself, “I’ve had these powers for about a month, and...earlier today I ran into some supervillains trying to steal some stuff from Tony Stark’s office. I managed to get it away from them, and I decided to bring it to you.”</p><p>Reed lifted an eyebrow. “Why not just leave it with Stark?”</p><p>“Well mostly because I wasn’t sure he should have it in the first place, whatever it was. He got it from the moon and I don’t remember his company <em>legally </em>launching any spaceflights.”</p><p>Dr. Fantastic looked alarmed. “Where did you put the item?”</p><p>Peter pointed at the bag on their countertop. “Right there, sir. I don’t know what it is, but it’s purple and glowly.”</p><p>Without taking a step, Reed Richards stretched his upper torso towards the little bag on the countertop, and pulled it open. He gasped audibly. “Terrigen mist...Stark got his hands on some <em>terrigen mist. </em> How the <em>Hell </em>did he get this?”</p><p>Ben Gimm finally spoke. “Ain’t that the stuff those Inhumies use up on the moon to make new Inhumies?”</p><p>“Inhumans, Ben,” Reed corrected, “And yes, it is. I’m going to have to let Black Bolt know some of his people’s lifeblood was stolen out from under their noses...and I think he’ll be putting in a few calls to Maxima after that. Assuming she’s not still in prison for the last stunt I heard she pulled.”</p><p>Peter didn’t understand a word of what was going on, but he was glad his gut instinct had been right. “So...I did the right thing?”</p><p>Reed turned to him, and smiled warmly, while quirking an eyebrow. He returned to his normal physique, and looked down on young Peter Parker. “Well, Mr. Parker, I’d say you had the right <em>idea</em>, at least. I’m not sure if all this...” he said, gesturing around at the damage the little brawl had done to the Fantastic Four’s penthouse, “Was worth it, but I understand how things can get out of hand.”</p><p>“I tried explaining,” Peter began, finding himself stammering unexpectedly, “As <em>soon </em>as I entered. She fired a freaking fireball at me before I could even finish a sentence!”</p><p>He pointed at the Human Torch, who was trying to <em>not </em>look at Dr. Fantastic.</p><p>“Jenny,” Reed asked, his voice calm but firm, “Did you fire a fireball at this young man before he could explain himself?”</p><p>She shrugged, before folding her arms across her chest and replying petulantly. “He might’ve, I guess. Hard to hear him behind that stupid mask of his.”</p><p>The girl was looking at Peter oddly, and he wondered why she was so <em>mad</em>. Probably because he’d beaten her, or something stupid like that. He knew he’d feel annoyed if he’d lost to some new superhero, too.</p><p>“Regardless,” Reed said chidingly at the young woman, “You shouldn’t try to incinerate people without a <em>good </em>reason, Jenny.”</p><p>He turned back to Peter. “Can you help me get Susan out of the webbing?”</p><p>Peter nodded. “Yeah, there’s a counteragent I can make. I just need a <em>few </em>chemicals...”</p><p>He rattled off a list of chemicals, and was surprised when Reed had to ask him to stop and clarify what he’d meant more than once. Despite his genius with physics, robotics, astronomy, and mathematics, Reed Richards was apparently not much of a chemist. At least, he wasn’t the chemist <em>Peter </em>was.</p><p>He felt pride surge in his chest again at that notion. Him, <em>Peter Parker</em> , better than <em>Reed Richards </em>at something. This had been an amazing couple of weeks, hadn’t it?</p><p>Well, aside from Uncle Ben. He suppressed that thought, as he had every other little intrusive reminder of his Uncle’s recent death. It was good to think about it when he needed motivation, not when it brought him nearly to tears.</p><p>He helped Reed apply the counter agent to the webbing around Susan Storm, and explained to Reed that the rest would dissolve on its own.</p><p>“And I wanted to uh, say I’m sorry.” he said to the now-visible woman, who looked a bit older than she’d seemed in her press photos. Not like, old-old, she wasn’t even forty as far as he knew, but certainly not the perpetual twenty-year old she’d been depicted as in so many of the Fantastic Four’s promo shots. Hell, now that he thought of it, Reed looked <em>younger</em>. Kinda creepy, he thought, that the media seemed to want to imply there was a bigger age gap between them than just five years.</p><p>“It’s okay,” she said, smiling at him warmly, “I should’ve known Jenny had done <em>something </em>to deserve getting hit with a lamp.”</p><p>“Hey!” The younger Storm sister called out from across the apartment. “It’s not my fault he’s so <em>sketchy</em>!”</p><p>“I’m not sketchy! I’m Spider-Man! I’ve got red and blue pajamas on! Nothing sketchy about it!”</p><p>Reed stretched out his arms between them. “Alright, alright. Let’s not let things turn into <em>another </em>brawl around here.”</p><p>He turned to Ben. “Ben, do you feel comfortable escorting this young man home?”</p><p>Peter straightened up. “Huh? Escort? What’s going on? This some kind of attempt to force me to stop?”</p><p>He adopted a defensive stance again, but Reed quickly made a reassuring motion with his hand. “No no, I just meant he’d give you a lift. You’re almost out of web fluid in those shooters of yours, right?”</p><p>Peter nodded, then rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, well...I could catch a cab?”</p><p>Reed quirked an eyebrow. “Dressed like that?”</p><p>“Actually I’ve got more normal clothes in here,” he pointed to his utility belt, “I can put them on overtop.”</p><p>He popped open one of the little pouches, to show a tightly-folded up long-sleeve t-shirt.</p><p>“I’ve got a shirt, some jogging pants, socks, and...back here,” he motioned to the larger pack on his lower back, “I’ve got a pair of those shoes with the little toes in them.”</p><p>Reed raised an eyebrow. “Those fit with that outfit of yours on underneath?”</p><p>Peter shook his head. “But I can take off the little feet and the gloves, and the mask. And the upper and lower torso are two separate pieces.”</p><p>“Ah,” Reed said, nodding, “Not bad, then. I thought it was a unitard, I admit.”</p><p>“That’s the trick, it sticks together. That’s a funny property of the material I used to make it.”</p><p>“And what material was that? Doesn’t look like spandex, to me.”</p><p>“It’s uh, not...it’s spider silk.” Peter rubbed the back of his head, not sure why he felt embarrassed.</p><p>“Your spider silk?” Reed looked confused, “I thought you said that dissolved in a few hours?”</p><p>Peter shook his head. “Nah, nah, this is the <em>pure </em>silk. The stuff I put in my web shooters, that stuff’s mixed with some other chemicals that make it dissolve over time and let me get more bang for my buck. Making this stuff is...unpleasant, so it’s good to not waste it.”</p><p>Jenny Storm, who by now had sauntered over to the two of them, was looking Peter up and down. “Wait, wait...you <em>make </em>this stuff? Oh gross, does it come out of your butt?”</p><p>Peter <em>had </em>to laugh at that. “No, why would it do that?”</p><p>“Because spider silk comes out of their butts! Everyone knows that!” Her face had gone red, and Peter couldn’t help himself. He doubled over laughing and literally slapped his knee.</p><p>“No, it comes out of their <em>abdomen</em> , that’s totally different. It’s like...it’s a gland they have. The closest equivalent would be um...” he trailed off, realizing he didn’t want to discuss <em>that </em>aspect of equivalency, “Well, anyway, for me the glands that make it are back here.”</p><p>He pointed at the base of his throat, and took small delight in Storm’s disgusted expression. “Every so often, usually every couple days, my body makes more of the stuff. I hack it up, store it, mix it with some other chemicals and <em>voila</em>! Spidey-silk.”</p><p>Ignoring the protest clearly about to come from Storm begging him to stop, he continued. “To make this suit, I had to stock up on web gunk for a whole week. I wasn’t doing much superhero stuff, though, so it was pretty easy.”</p><p>That was the week he’d been sitting shiva with his aunt, for Uncle Ben. It hadn’t exactly been a time where he could afford to go out of the house during the day, no matter how much he wanted to just get away from the process of mourning his uncle. That was what it was <em>for</em> , and he knew his uncle would rather he stay with his aunt to help keep her company than go out and fight injustice like Peter <em>thought</em> he’d wanted. So he spent that time preparing for when he <em>would </em>go out there, and fight cops who harassed little kids for waving toy guns. Who attacked homeless people for sleeping in the wrong place.</p><p>Who shot old men for refusing to give up their car to a cop just because he <em>demanded </em>it.</p><p>“I see,” Reed said, stroking his chin. “Well it’s impressive work. There’s a lot some people I know could do with this stuff...though if the process of making it is <em>that </em>time-consuming...”</p><p>“Yeah uh, it takes a lot out of me to make it. I’d rather not go selling any just for profit.”</p><p>Dr. Fantastic studied Peter for a bit, as if mulling something over. A smile curled the edges of his mouth, as an idea seemed to come to him.</p><p>“There’s a lot we could do to use your name and image to raise funds,” Reed said, placing a hand paternally on Peter’s shoulder, “And if you want, we can provide you with access to it.”</p><p>It didn’t take much thought for Peter to see how badly <em>that </em> would go. “No, me and a lot of money...not a good combination. Better that it goes to something charitable, something worthwhile. Something that helps people; and I mean <em>directly </em>helps people. Buying homes, buying food, water, heat, electricity...you name it. Helping people out there,” he motioned to the streets of New York below, “to survive.”</p><p>Reed nodded. “That’s fine by me. Are you sure you don’t want even a small stipend? Even a fraction of a percent could be enough to leave you set for life.”</p><p>Peter shook his head vigorously. “Nope! Definitely not! Not when it could help people!”</p><p>“Alright then,” Dr. Fantastic said, checking a device on his wrist that <em>almost </em>resembled a watch, “Well...it’s getting late. I’d love to talk with you some more, over the weekend. If you’re comfortable, that is.”</p><p>“I sure am!” Peter said, admonishing himself for sounding like Bucky Barnes always did when talking to Captain America in those goofy old cartoons about their wartime adventures.</p><p>“Fantastic,” Dr. Richards said, a broad grin breaking out on his face, “We’ll keep in touch. Ben? You good to fly the two-person Fantasticar to this young man’s house?”</p><p>Ben looked at Peter, at first sternly...then he broke out into a belly laugh. “Of course! No problem, Reed!”</p><p>Peter smiled, hopping into the little flying car. The cab only had room for two people, but it was spacious enough that between skinny little him and big and bulky Ben Grimm, there was <em>just </em>enough room for them both. They shot off towards his Aunt’s home in Queens, and the Thing began talking his ear off about this and that, asking him about his family and how much Yiddish he knew (almost none, he had to sadly admit). When it came to the topic of Uncle Ben, Peter tried to evade the subject but found he couldn’t quite manage it.</p><p>“My Uncle Ben...died, recently.”</p><p>“You had an Uncle named Ben? A good ol’ Jewish guy that fought in ‘Nam? Sounds like my twin that I never met! That’s a damned shame!”</p><p>Peter nodded. Uncle Ben would’ve <em>loved </em>Ben Grimm, he was <em>exactly </em>the kind of blue-collar guy he got along with great. To say nothing of the joy that always came to his Uncle’s face when meeting another old Yid like himself.</p><p>“What happened to him, kid? Or do ya...not wanna talk about it?”</p><p>Peter sighed. “He...he was shot. By a police officer. The guy wanted his car, said it was something about civil forfeiture. Some nonsense about suspecting it had been purchased with drug money, I don’t know. Said he didn’t need a warrant or anything, and that Uncle Ben should just comply and give him the car. My Uncle Ben...he said no. The cop shot him, then drove off in the car. He went into a coma, and died a few hours later in a hospital.”</p><p>“It was all my fault,” Peter continued, knowing he had to get it <em>all </em> out, the guilt and the pain both, “ I was there, I was <em>right there</em> . My uncle and the cop couldn’t see me, I’d been walking in that direction, I didn’t know it was my uncle Ben. But I saw it, and I knew where it was going. I could’ve stepped closer, could’ve held up my phone and streamed it online. That would’ve had a <em>real </em>good chance of stopping him then and there. Failing that, I could’ve used my powers to stop the cop. Web up his gun, blindside him and knock him out...or something like that. But I didn’t, and...now my Uncle is dead.”</p><p>The Thing was silent for a moment, though Peter heard a sound like scraping rock that he quickly realized was Ben Grimm clenching his fist. “Where’s this cop now?”</p><p>“Dead,” Peter said bitterly, “I killed him. I haven’t told anyone, nobody knows it was me but...I threw him off the Brooklyn Bridge, tied to a cement block. He’s dead, as far as I know.”</p><p>To his surprise and cold relief, the Thing just nodded. “That’s a rough business. Not a lot of ways to get justice for shit like that. Don’t let it eat away at ya, kid. But don’t go thinking you did the only right thing to do, either. Murder...it’s a sin for a reason. It wasn’t wrong, but I’m not gonna tell you it was right, either.”</p><p>Peter nodded. “I know. I think that’s what my Uncle Ben would say if...if he were still alive.”</p><p>“From now on,” the Thing said, smiling at Peter, blue eyes twinkling in the evening light, “You can just call <em>me </em>your Uncle Ben. Okay?”</p><p>Peter felt tears welling in his eyes, which he wiped away. “Yeah. I will, Uncle Ben.”</p><p>When they arrived, they said their goodbyes and Peter looked at the house. He smiled, dimly, looking forward to telling Aunt May about all that had happened. For the first time since his Uncle Ben had died, he felt <em>hope</em> for his future.</p><hr/><p>In an underground base beneath Staten Island, Adrian Toombs cursed to herself, as she carefully removed her flightsuit and detached her harness. It had been ready, it had been <em>done</em> , until that spider-kid came in and <em>ruined everything</em>. He’d covered her wings in some gunk that would probably take weeks to scrub off fully...oh, it had dissolved.</p><p>That was odd.</p><p>All the same, it had been a fiasco. The little punk had stolen the bag full of the mist! All because the Chameleon had been too busy monologuing to her to just put the vials in the storage compartment like the boss had directed. She popped open the little compartment in the back of her wings, and stared at the little vial of the strange purple gas.</p><p>This was it. All that work for this tiny glass vial full of this substance that did God alone knew what. She was so tempted to throw it to the ground in frustration...but she restrained herself, and headed deeper into the lair.</p><p>The Master Planner’s base was spacious, and well-hidden. She chuckled, thinking about how nobody would <em>want </em> to look beneath Staten Island <em>anyway</em>. The only better place to hide it would’ve been to leave New York altogether and hide it somewhere in New Jersey. As it stood though, this was a prime location to set flight from and return to.</p><p>The Vulture stepped through the dark hallways until she reached the little sanctum where the Master Planner kept his massive viewscreen he’d speak to them through. She wondered why he didn’t ever appear in person, but supposed that he might want to maintain some distance to protect his deniability. Some other part of her thought it seemed an odd way to go about it, but there was no real reason to be <em>that </em>suspicious.</p><p>Standing there in the Sanctum was the Chameleon, wearing his featureless white mask again as usual, his back turned to the Vulture as she entered. When the door slid shut behind her, he turned around. She couldn’t see any expression on his face, but she suspected he had some kind of weaselly grin underneath that ridiculous mask.</p><p>“Ah, Toombs,” he began smugly, “How good of you to join us.”</p><p>She snarled at him. “How many times have I asked you to stick to codenames?! Do you think I want someone else overhearing my real identity?!”</p><p>He shrugged, “Does it matter? I think the Doctor has you figured out just fine, and the Master Planner surely knows. The only one who might not is Tinkerer, really.”</p><p>“Might not know what?” A high-pitched voice asked as the door slid open behind them. Vulture and Chameleon turned to see the slight build of the wizened old man calling himself the Tinkerer enter the room, looking at them curiously.</p><p>“Oh, that our dear friend here the Vulture is really Doctor Adrian Toombs,” the Chameleon began with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Formerly a brilliant engineer slaving away for an aerospace corporation that didn’t deserve her talents, until they stole her life’s work and cut her loose.”</p><p>“Oh,” the Tinkerer replied, sounding nonplussed, “Is that...important?”</p><p>Vulture narrowed her eyes at him. “No, it isn’t. In fact, you might as well forget you ever heard it.”</p><p>He nodded, and headed over to the computer’s console. “How did the mission go?”</p><p>“Badly,” the Vulture replied before the Chameleon could speak, “That new superhero, <em>Spider-Man</em>, came and interfered. We only got one vial of the terrigen mist.”</p><p>“That’s a shame,” said a cool, masculine voice behind her, as the doors slid open, “I doubt the Master Planner will be too pleased to hear it.”</p><p>The distinctive metal beat of her mechanical extra arms left the Vulture no doubt as to who it was; the mysterious Doctor Octopus, whom even the Chameleon had yet to crack. She was dressed as was usual for her, in a smart black vest, trousers, and button-down shirt, with a green tie on to complete the look. Overtop it she normally wore a woolen coat, though today it seemed she’d hung it up in the little coat rack at the lair’s entrance. The lower half of her face was obscured by a black gaiter, and her eyes were hidden behind wire-framed black sunglasses that <em>had </em>to make it hard to see in this dimly-lit lair. Her hair was buzzed almost to the scalp along the sides, and the top was evenly parted in a way that made Vulture think of the late Harry Houdini.</p><p>The Doctor took her position in the fore of the room, leaning one of her tentacles against the massive black tower of the Master Planner’s computer as she always did. Her hands remained in her pockets as she spoke. “Did you at least lose Spider-Man before heading here, Vulture?” Her voice was so deep, Toombs thought at first she was a man pretending to be a woman. She had shaken that thought aside, though, since the idea of a man pretending to be a woman and then dressing like <em>that </em>seemed so absurd as to be impossible. The girl just had some odd infection of the throat that had left her voice a perpetual baritone, it seemed.</p><p>Toombs nodded. “Of course, Doctor. I wasn’t going to let some new super-hero track us down. I took the long way around, and kept checking behind myself every so often. Once I knew I’d shaken him, I went back to being invisible to make sure I didn’t attract anyone else.”</p><p>Doctor Octopus nodded, removing her hands from her pockets and clasping them behind her back. “Good. Tinkerer, I think it’s time we call up the Master Planner.”</p><p>With a nod, the little man began typing away on the little keypad. The massive viewscreen flickered to life, and a man’s face filled the screen. He was ugly, with a <em>very </em>square face and an unflattering bowlcut. He wore a pair of aviator shades, and though he wasn’t well-lit, wherever he was, he was very obviously as white as she and the Doctor were.</p><p>“Good evening, my employees,” he began, in his nasally voice, “How did the heist proceed today?”</p><p>“In failure, Master Planner,” Doctor Octopus replied, taking the role of spokeswoman for her fellows as usual, “Aside from one vial. The Spider-Man appears to have interfered.”</p><p>The Master Planner was silent for a moment, before snorting. “Very well. You’ll receive <em>half </em>the pay you were promised...because I think I can find a use for that one vial.”</p><p>The Vulture was astonished at this leniency, and had to speak up. “Thank you sir, but….what does this mean for your plans? You said you needed the mists?”</p><p>“This...Spider-Man,” he began, a wicked grin forming on his face, “I think I have a use for him, in place of the mist. I will want you to focus on securing the other equipment we will need, for now. I will have Doctor Octopus work on procuring a...<em>replacement</em>, for the mist.”</p><p>The Doctor inclined her head towards the monitor. “Of course, sir. Is there anything else?”</p><p>“I have received news from a<em> friend</em> that the Fantastic Four will soon be out of town. I wish you all to lay low until then, as that will leave Spider-Man the only super-hero around to stop you from getting to your work. Am I understood?”</p><p>The assembled agents of the Master Planner all voiced their assent.</p><p>“Good. Master Planner out.”</p><p>The screen flickered off, and they were left in darkness. The Doctor turned to look at her fellows.</p><p>“Well, I suppose you had all better get going. I’m going to need some time to...prepare, I suspect.”</p><p>Vulture tilted her head. “Prepare? For what?”</p><p>"To weave a web,” she began, her tone as even as ever, “That even a spider can’t escape.”</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Issue #2: The First Day of the Rest of Your Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><span class="u">Monday, January 4</span><sup><span class="u">th</span> </sup> <span class="u">, Midtown High School, Queens<br/></span></p><p>Peter Parker had it all, once. He’d been one of the most popular guys in Senior Year, he’d been best friends with one of the <em>other </em>most popular guys. He’d had a lot of girls- and a few guys, he’d suspected- eyeing him. He’d been the best student, with the best grades in <em>every </em>class. He’d even gotten more than his fair share of extracurricular activities rounded away; crew team, chess club, and student council, though that last one had been rather short-lived. His <em>personal </em>favorite, of course, was photography club. He was the club president, and sort of the only <em>real</em> member. Okay so it wasn’t a club so much as him and a few people he paid to stand around while he took pictures of stuff, but hey. It was a way of him getting away with turning his hobby into something useful.</p><p>It was all gone, now. Metaphorically speaking, of course; he was still on crew (Disproven accusations of doping notwithstanding), still played chess, and his grades hadn’t dropped or anything<em>. </em> But his social life? Well, <em>that </em>was going to be down to whether or not he was able to summon up the courage to do what he needed to do.</p><p>Parker sighed, looking at the doors to the school. He’d been avoiding it so far, but today he’d have to face the music. He’d made a promise to Max and Tavia, and to Uncle Ben in a way. He had to keep it. Peter pushed on the door, and swung it open. The familiar halls felt like he’d been away from them for <em>years</em>, despite it only having been a few weeks since he left for Winter break. So much had <em>happened </em>in those two weeks, though. He’d recovered from his odd sickness after that spider bit him, gradually developed strange new powers over the following months, gotten himself a <em>load </em>of cash in some illegal cage fights…</p><p>And then Uncle Ben had died. And it had been his fault. And he’d spent most of the remaining nights of the break doing his best to take out his grief and pain on those who’d caused it all, while he spent his days trying to restore bridges he’d nearly burnt to cinders. Now he was back, and had to try to pretend that everything was normal.</p><p>So here he was. He hadn’t spoken to his so-called best friend, Flash Thompson, since the night Uncle Ben died. He’d been bombarded with texts, not looking at his phone the entire time he was sitting shiva. Only Max and Tavia had offered to be there for him, and only they had felt like people he could trust. He’d been treating them like <em>dirt </em> since his powers first appeared, and he’d barely had time to begin making up for it. He had to do <em>more</em> for them.</p><p>Peter took a deep breath, and kept walking. The hallways were pretty empty, with a couple other students he didn’t know drifting around and talking. There were fifteen minutes left until homeroom, so it wasn’t <em>that </em>surprising that his friends weren’t here yet. Maybe, just maybe, they weren’t here today. Maybe he could keep putting off the inevitable-</p><p>“PETE! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!” A <em>very </em> familiar voice boomed out from behind Peter, whose spider-senses flared as he sensed an incoming tackle. Bracing himself, he forced his body to stand still even as he could practically <em>see </em>the oncoming body.</p><p>A mass of muscle slammed him to the floor, and Peter turned around to look up over his shoulder. Behind a mess of long blonde hair was the grinning face of Eugene “Flash” Thompson. Quarterback of Midtown High’s football team, one-time student council vice president (And boy, had <em>that </em>been a fiasco) and unofficial Big Man on Campus.</p><p>Oh, and he was also Peter’s best friend and the only one he had left from childhood. The only one who hadn’t left him when he’d become a mopey weirdo after his mom and dad died. The <em>reason </em>he was so popular now, because so many of the school’s popular kids knew him through Flash. The lifeline to sanity he’d ignored in favor of putting on a garish not-actually-a-unitard and punching cops all winter break.</p><p>That of course was what he’d wanted to think….but he stopped himself. Max had been his friend just as long- well <em>almost </em> as long- as Flash had. It just <em>felt </em> newer, because it had only been within the last few years he’d <em>recognized </em> how great a friend Max was. Because he’d grown up (Albeit hesitatingly, and with some <em>bumps</em> along the way), while Flash had stayed the selfish little boy he’d always been on the inside.</p><p>“Hey, Flash,” Peter began, his voice as weak as his smile, “I’ve been at home, mostly.”</p><p>Flash laughed, and there was no sarcasm in it. Flash Thompson, bully though he was to so many people in Midtown High, had nothing but fondness for Peter Parker. He thought Peter was the smartest, funniest guy in Queens, maybe even in all of New York. If he wasn’t confident that Flash was as boringly straight as an arrow, he’d think the guy had a crush on him.</p><p>“Why didn’t you like, pick up the phone? I called you every day, man! I even came in person, but your Aunt said you weren’t in!”</p><p>Peter grimaced, remembering Aunt May telling him about ‘Your friend, Eugene’ and how he’d stopped by while her nephew was out fighting brutal cops, dangerous criminals, saving people from fires, and as of this weekend, fighting supervillains. Oh, and also fighting the Fantastic Four. <em>That </em>sure went over well when he had needed to explain things to Aunt May.</p><p>“Well I really <em>wasn’t </em> in when you stopped by, I kept uh...I’m doing a job search. You know, so I’ll have a job when we go to college.” It was a lie, but it was a <em>good </em> lie. It made sense, and what’s more it made Peter realize he really <em>would </em> need a job soon if he wanted to keep paying for even his modest superhero-ing equipment. He’d already blown through most of his Channukah money on parts for spare web-shooters. Maybe Reed would...no, no. He wasn’t going to take <em>any </em> of the Future Foundation’s money. That was a slippery slope he <em>had </em>to avoid.</p><p>“Ok, but then why didn’t you pick up the phone?” By this point, Flash had <em>finally </em> gotten off of Peter, and helped him to his feet. There was genuine concern on his face, and it made this so much harder. Flash, for all that he was a massive asshole to everyone else, was nothing but good to Peter. Well, except when he made homophobic jokes around him, or referenced <em>South Park</em> in a way that made Peter feel like Flash <em>really </em>didn’t know that he was Jewish.</p><p>Actually nah, fuck Flash. He had this coming.</p><p>“Hey Flash!” A familiar, perky voice shouted. Peter internally shuddered, as Flash’s vivacious girlfriend Liz Allen sidled up to her jock and wrapped her arm under his. Liz was one of the most gorgeous girls Peter had ever met, with olive-skin and beautifully long blonde hair. She wasn’t a natural blonde, but she really pulled off the dyed look well all the same.</p><p>“Peter!” She shouted with joy when she saw the familiar face standing next to Flash. “Where the Hell were you?”</p><p>“Looking for jobs, apparently,” Flash said, skepticism underlying his voice, “As if anybody <em>did </em> that <em>in person </em>anymore.”</p><p>Peter rubbed the back of his head nervously, and his nervousness increased as a small crowd began to form. He recognized almost all of Flash’s close friends; Hobie Brown, Kenny Kong, Sally Avril and her girlfriend. Everyone else was a stranger, except for one; Max.</p><p>The other boy was looking at him with surprise, but a small smile on his face. It gave Peter a bit more courage, knowing the person he was doing this for was right here. Max was a <em>damned good</em> friend, and unlike Flash he didn’t mooch off Peter, beg him for answers during tests, or refuse to sit shiva for his uncle just because he didn’t want to miss some Christmas party.</p><p>That last one made the rage rise inside Peter, more than enough to bolster his resolve. Any doubt or fear in his mind faded away, and was replaced with <em>anger</em>. Flash <em>deserved </em>this, and he now forced himself to hold back. He wanted to scream at Flash, call him a selfish, bigoted asshole, but this wasn’t the time for it.</p><p>“You guys going to let me go to homeroom, or what?” Peter asked, keeping his voice steady. If Flash took this on the chin, he could do it all without needless <em>drama</em> . Needless drama also risked bringing about needless <em>violence</em>, and laying Flash out would be both pointless and suspicious, given how much smaller he was than the other boy. One of these days he’d work out how his new muscles gave him so much strength without bulking him up anywhere near as much as he’d expect.</p><p>“Not until you tell us where you’ve been, Peter! And why you’ve been avoiding me!” Flash almost shouted at him. Peter hoped Liz might pull him back or something, but instead she was narrowing her eyes at Peter, as if suspicious that he was up to something.</p><p>“Ok, look! Flash, I realized some <em>things</em>. After my uncle died.”</p><p>Flash looked taken aback, and Peter realized he was giving a <em>very </em>different impression than he’d wanted to. “Dude uh, if you’re gay or anything it’s cool. You can tell me, you know?”</p><p>Peter let out a breath, struggling not to laugh or scream. He wasn’t really sure which he wanted to do more, right now. “I <em>am</em> bisexual, but that isn’t what I was going to tell you.”</p><p>There was a adorable little delighted gasp from Max (Who already knew, but Peter had no doubt he was proud of Peter for coming out like <em>that</em>), and a few surprised smiles scattered amongst the people in the crowd. Most everyone was just staring at him now, wondering where this was going to go <em>next</em>. If coming out as bisexual wasn’t going to be the main event, then what happened next was going to be <em>juicy</em>.</p><p>God, he could not <em>wait </em>to get out of high school.</p><p>“Oh. Well you know, that’s cool but like, what’s wrong then?”</p><p>Peter gritted his teeth, practically <em>spitting </em>the words out. “You, Flash. You’re what’s wrong. You’re a <em>dick</em> to people, you know? I’ve seen you beat people up because they made you mad, I’ve seen you pressure girls into stuff I <em>know </em>they wouldn’t want to do if they felt like they had a choice. And I’ve helped you cheat, a lot, on a lot of math projects. Which is wrong.”</p><p>There was also the antisemitism, the racism, and a lot of other shit but...that one would inspire too much talking back. At least if he stuck to this kind of stuff, Flash had no counterargument to work with. No way to say Peter was being unfair by bringing up the <em>really </em>bad stuff (A common reaction that never made sense to Peter.)</p><p>Flash gaped at him, and Peter flinched when he saw that Flash was beginning to<em> cry</em> . He felt guilt...but also so much <em>relief. </em> He’d been helping Flash get along with terrible crap for <em>years </em> now, and he’d let Flash encourage <em>him </em> to do bad stuff, too. Nothing <em>that </em> bad, usually just some really rude pranks. Still, he was to blame, if not as much as Flash himself was, for all the stuff Flash did. More than once Flash had come to Peter, asking him for advice on whether or not he should do something Peter <em>knew </em>was wrong. He wanted to feel catharsis but...he couldn’t. This had been something he needed to do, not something he could take much joy in.</p><p>Of course, nobody in the crowd was smiling or feeling much relieved. Sally was frowning at him, and pulling her confused-looking girlfriend away from the miniature mob of people. Liz looked shocked, and looked between him and Flash as if she’d just learned Flash was cheating on her. Which, Peter supposed, he had been.</p><p>Flash, of course, was confused as all Hell. His face flickered through a flurry of emotions before finally settling on anger. Almost certainly without thinking, he swung a fist at Peter.</p><p>Succumbing to his reflexes, Peter caught the punch, and swiftly threw Flash to the ground. Not <em>too </em> hard, he had the self-control to avoid anything cover-blowing (At least he <em>hoped</em> ) , but still. That had to <em>hurt. </em> <em>Especially </em> with a backpack full of textbooks, <em>ouch</em>.</p><p>“Gaaaaah!” Flash screamed in pain as he hit the ground, and struggled to get back up. Peter began backing away, and the crowd parted behind him. He speed-walked his way towards homeroom, and away from the ruination of his old social life.</p><p>Some footsteps came running up behind him, and Peter was almost disappointed his spider-sense didn’t flare. It meant he had no excuse to run faster, since whatever it was wasn’t dangerous. With a sense of dread, he turned to see it was Max, following him with a toothy smile.</p><p>“Peter...that was fucking <em>dope, </em>okay? When the Hell did you get so ripped?”</p><p>Peter rubbed the back of his head nervously. “I uh...I was working out lately, remember?”</p><p>Max laughed, and patted Peter on the back. “Damn, man, I need to learn your routine! You just laid him out!”</p><p>“Hey, I mean...don’t praise me too much for it, okay? I feel...like, like I could’ve fixed things better if I’d done them sooner.”</p><p>“Peter,” Max said, adopting a more serious expression, “Don’t. Don’t blame yourself, but especially don’t start feeling bad for <em>Flash fucking Thompson</em>. I get it, you’re upset you just laid out a<em> former</em> friend of yours, but he doesn’t fucking deserve it.”</p><p>He sighed. “Peter like...sometimes violence really <em>is </em>the only answer, you know? Fuck, you should know better than most people!”</p><p>Peter nodded, knowing <em>exactly </em> what Max was alluding to there. More than once the two of them and Tavia had discussed how all of their peoples had been lined up for slavery, extermination, or (in Tavia’s case) both. They all knew, from family stories or from history books that there wasn’t exactly a <em>non</em> violent way to deal with that sort of problem. Flash wasn’t exactly a skinhead, but he was an ignorant douchebag and he’d had this coming.</p><p>Besides, he’d punched Peter first.</p><p>Max and Peter made their way down the hall until they reached homeroom, and took their seats towards the front of the room. Sitting right next to Peter, of course, was Tavia. She was sitting there, dressed more casually than she had been the previous day in a black tank top, black sweatshirt, and a pair of flattering leather pants. She was reading a book, titled <em>The Price of Salt. </em></p><p>Tavia seemed to sense his staring, and without lifting her head out of her book began speaking. “It’s about lesbians. The book, I mean.”</p><p>Peter snorted. “I know, Tavia. I remember you talking about it, before.”</p><p>“Mmmm,” she sat the book down, and turn to fix her darkly bespectacled gaze upon him, “So, how’d it go? You and Flash, I mean. I heard <em>something </em>going on out there.”</p><p>There was a quiet intensity to her, as usual, but this morning it seemed even <em>more </em> intense. Something was <em>bugging </em> Tavia, and Peter couldn’t place what. It made him <em>nervous</em>.</p><p>“Uh, yeah, I mean uh...there was kind of a scuffle.” Now that the adrenaline rush had died down, Peter was a bit nervous talking about all that had gone down.</p><p>Max laughed heartily at that. “Oh, yeah. A <em>scuffle</em>. More like Peter picked Flash up and slammed him into the ground!”</p><p>To Peter’s surprise, rather than looking delighted, Tavia looked <em>worried</em> . No, not worried...or maybe it was worried. Or maybe she <em>was </em> delighted. The girl’s poker face was basically always on, which seemed to come with her autism. At least, that’s how <em>she’d </em>always explained it, but it seemed just as likely to Peter there was something else going on there, too.</p><p>“Peter, you...Flash has to weigh at least 250 pounds! How did you do that?”</p><p>Oh, good. Just the sort of question he’d been hoping nobody asked.</p><p>To his <em>immense </em> relief, Tavia smiled and waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, what am I thinking. You’re on crew team , right. I keep forgetting you’ve got a <em>ton </em>of upper body strength. Unlike me.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter replied, chuckling in a way he <em>hoped </em> didn’t seem nervous, “Yeah I mean, Flash isn’t <em>that </em>heavy. I bench more than that much. I think I pulled something when I flipped him, though.”</p><p>He sat there, shifting in his seat awkwardly. There was a strange tension in the air, which <em>thankfully </em>Max seemed to sense, because he immediately broke it.</p><p>“What do you guys think about Spider-Man?” Max asked, sounding excited.</p><p><em>Well, I </em> <em>should’ve known</em> <em> this was coming</em> , Peter thought to himself, <em>Time to </em> <em>test the ol’ Parker poker face!</em></p><p>“I haven’t heard that much about him,” Peter began, trying to sound nice and casual, “Sounds pretty cool, though. I heard he fought some weird bird-person, but it was all vague.”</p><p>Tavia looked at him curiously, the quiet intensity returning to her face. “Where’d you hear that? All I read was that he was sighted briefly over 5<sup> th </sup> Avenue.”</p><p>That wasn’t right, Peter knew, but he wasn’t going to correct her. It’d be suspicious, and she was being weirdly suspicious anyway. “A friend said he saw Spider-Man fighting some big...bird thing. Red, I think? He said it was red, anyway.”</p><p>“Ah,” she said, nodding along, “Well that is definitely interesting. I hope we can learn more about what he was up to. The reports have all been so conflicting, so <em>strange</em>, you know?”</p><p>Okay yeah, this was weird behavior, even from beloved weirdo Tavia Smith. Peter was picking up <em>something </em>in her tone, but he couldn’t place it. It was like, she was trying to puzzle something out, but he couldn’t fathom what. Did she already suspect he was Spider-Man?</p><p>“I think he seems cool,” Max said earnestly, making Peter smile, “He seems like, you know, he’s gonna be like the Fantastic Four. Doing some real good, you know?”</p><p>That was a welcome bit of encouragement that Peter had desperately needed. He <em>really </em>wanted to thank Max right then and there, but obviously that was a bad idea, so he just nodded along.</p><p>Tavia murmured something to herself. “Not as effectively, though. The Fantastic Four get as far as they do because they’re working together. And I have some <em>strong </em>opinions on them, just so you know.”</p><p>Actually Peter <em>did</em> know, already. Tavia had ranted once or twice about how much she doubted Reed Richards’ good intentions, and it had always made him feel really awkward. Like, Reed Richards wasn’t flawless but there wasn’t much one could say that was <em>bad </em>about the guy. Tavia, though, acted like he was secretly some devilspawn in disguise.</p><p>“But Spider-Man works alone,” Tavia continued, “Working alone...it’s foolish. Nobody’s an island, you know? No one can actually do anything on their own. It’s not human nature, we’re social creatures. We cooperate, to reach our goals.”</p><p>Max grumbled about something, and turned his head away. Peter was about to ask him what was wrong, when a deep voice interrupted.</p><p>“Hey, Peter,” Rand Robertson asked, tapping him on the shoulder, “You got a minute?”</p><p>Peter turned around, and looked up at the much taller boy. “Yeah, Rand. Sure. What’s up?”</p><p>Rand was smiling, though it wasn’t reaching his eyes. “That was gutsy, telling Flash off like that. Not sure I know what it’s about but...well, you know. Gutsy, either way. Also uh, no clue how you laid him out like that, but just so you know he’s okay. In case that mattered.”</p><p>Peter swallowed. “Yeah, thanks for telling me. Uh, anything else up?”</p><p>“I heard you were looking for a job, and I had a suggestion. You like photography, right?”</p><p>Peter nodded, resisting the urge to remind Rand that he was sort of the literal <em>President </em>of the school’s photography club. “Yeah, I love photography. I’d even say I’m good at it.”</p><p>“Good,” Rand said, his tone suggesting a <em>touch </em> of skepticism, “ Then you should go apply to the Daily Bugle. They need a photographer, <em>badly</em>.”</p><p>That was <em>definitely </em>not a name he was familiar with. “Is that like, a local paper?”</p><p>Robertson chuckled and shook his head sadly. “You could say that. They’re sort of...<em>underground</em>.”</p><p>“What’s the website?” Peter asked, arching an eyebrow. This was beginning to feel like some kind of prank.</p><p>“They don’t have one, apparently,” Rand said with a sigh, “My dad’s been trying to get the editor to set one up for decades but...well, he’s <em>traditional</em>.”</p><p>“He’s not some kind of arch conservative, is he? Please, Rand, tell me you aren’t trying to set me up with some kind of mini-New York Post.”</p><p>“Oh no,” Rand said, raising his hands defensively, “I’d say it’s kind of the <em>opposite </em>of that. You’ll see, when you get there.”</p><p>He wrote down the address on a piece of paper, and handed it to Peter. Dimly, Peter recognized it as the address of the Baxter Building. That was weird; why hadn’t he heard of some newspaper that was practically next door to the Fantastic Four?</p><p>Before he could ask any more questions, Rand made his way to his own desk. Shortly after that, their teacher entered and began taking attendance. Flash was a no-show, and Peter wondered if, after the scuffle earlier that day, his ex-best friend had decided to skip school. He felt a pang of guilt; yeah, Flash was an ass, but it was still kinda cruel, the way he’d cut him off. At least, that’s how he <em>felt</em>.</p><p>The rest of homeroom, and indeed the rest of the entire school day passed without incident. Peter marveled at how much less stress there was, now that he wasn’t deliberately goofing off and messing with people with Flash. It was actually <em>really </em> cool, when you got down to it. A relaxing day at school was exactly what he needed after the <em>hellacious </em>Winter break he’d had.</p><p>When the day came to an end and it was time to go home, Peter was a bit reluctant to leave Max and Tavia behind. They were already excitedly asking him if he wanted to go hang out after school, but he had to decline. He had a responsibility to live up to, and that meant go home, unpack, do all his homework, then head out and fight crime. Or, more accurately, fight a lot of cops and the occasional assault by a non-cop, and maybe a superpowered monster or two. He hadn’t actually fought any of those, but hey, the day was young.</p><p>He walked his way through Queens until he came to the nice little house in a nice little suburb where, until recently, a nice little family had made its home. Now it was just him and Aunt May, and the place didn’t seem as cozy and warm as it had to Peter for so many years.</p><p>When he headed inside, he found Aunt May right there, waiting for him in the foyer. Despite having recently turned sixty, his Aunt still looked younger than her years. That was only physically, though; since Ben had died, she seemed like she could collapse at any minute. They hadn’t been lovers (mutual beards, more like) but he’d been her friend and partner for most of her life. Those sad, brown eyes were staring up at Peter when he walked in. For a moment she just sat there, and he just stood there. Then, without warning she stood up and ran over and embraced him, breaking down in tears.</p><p>“Peter,” she said, as wet tears poured down her cheeks onto Peter’s shoulder, “I’m sorry, I just...I was worried all day. I know, it’s ridiculous, it’s just...the house was so<em> quiet</em>...”</p><p>He patted her back, and felt tears welling up in his own eyes. “I know, Aunt May, I know...it still doesn’t seem real.”</p><p>“I keep thinking about how we both sat there with him in the hospital as he died,” she continued, through gasping sobs, “I dream of us sitting shiva for a week, my God, that had to be the loneliest vigil I’ve ever held.”</p><p>That made Peter break down into tears fully. Remembering how awful it had been, sitting there, with so few people around. Most of the times he’d been to a funeral or sat shiva for a friend or relative, there had been dozens. Not necessarily always at once, but certainly over the course of the week. Poor Ben Parker didn’t get dozens, though. He just got Peter, Aunt May, Tavia, Max, Aunt Anna, and a pretty red-haired girl that Peter didn’t even know. The girl had been so quiet, and seemed so sad and afraid to talk. Aside from them, there had been nobody. Ben’s co-workers from his job at the auto shop had all declined. Flash had said no, for his own specious reasons, and Peter hadn’t felt close enough to anyone else at Midtown to ask them to attend. All of Ben’s veteran friends from the Vietnam War were dead, and his only remaining family besides Peter had died in that plane crash that left Peter an orphan.</p><p>The two of them lay there on the carpet in the foyer for what Peter later realized was almost an hour, crying over their shared loss. It would heal, given time, but it would never be easy. A part of him had died with his Uncle Ben, and he’d never get that back.</p><p>Eventually though, the two of them regained their composure and managed to stand back up.</p><p>“Well, now,” May began, steadying herself and drying her tears with a handkerchief, “Let me make you some dinner. We can’t spend all day sitting here in the foyer. You get your homework sorted, then tell me all about your day.”</p><p>Aunt May headed off to the kitchen, and Peter headed up to his room. As usual, the homework he’d been given was so trivially easy that he could usually sort it out in his sleep. He knocked it all out in less than ten minutes, as it turned out, which was impressive even for him. Dimly, he wondered if the weird powers he’d gotten from that spider-bite included enhanced intelligence. It didn’t make much <em>sense</em>, since spiders weren’t exactly known for that.</p><p>Shrugging aside the weird biological accident that had made him capable of picking up and throwing cars, Peter put away his books and got changed. He took off his day clothes, and slipped on his Spider-Man shirt and pants. Then he put on a t-shirt, a button-down, and a pair of baggy cargo pants on top of the leggings. The rest of the spider-suit was stashed in his cargo pants. The trick he’d learned to quick changes was dressing in <em>layers</em>; he certainly wasn’t going to get caught naked from the waist down with his Spider-mask on, if he could help it.</p><p>Heading down to the kitchen, he found that Aunt May was still working on dinner. Spaghetti, by the smell of it.</p><p>“So soon? Did you really finish all your homework?”</p><p>Peter grinned, and held up his hands defensively. “Hey, I’m <em>responsible </em>now, Aunt May. I wouldn’t come down here with it half-finished!”</p><p>“Alright, Mr. Genius,” she said, smiling warmly as the spaghetti was finally ready to be eaten, “If you’re all responsible, then you’ll eat your dinner and tell your old Aunt how your first day back at school went.”</p><p>Peter eagerly took a steaming bowl of noodles, and poured tomato sauce out of a jar onto it, before mixing it up and pouring some shredded cheese on top. Too hungry to wait for any prayer, he started digging into it immediately. He still had the good grace to pause first, before speaking. “You could say that. I uh...I told Flash that he couldn’t be my friend anymore, unless he stopped being such a terrible person.”</p><p>May <em>beamed </em> at him over her own bowl of pasta. “Oh, Peter...you know how much it had been killing me inside, to see you stand by that awful boy as he kept hurting people? It was one of the few things your Uncle would get <em>really </em> mad about. He thought it was unworthy of you, to keep spending so much time with that <em>bully</em>.”</p><p>“I know,” Peter said, feeling a hint of pride that he’d done at least <em>one </em>thing that’d make Uncle Ben happy, “To be honest I...I hadn’t been a very good nephew, those last few years. I know I haven’t, you don’t need to deny it.”</p><p>She nodded sadly, avoiding his gaze and idly twirling spaghetti around her fork. “No, you certainly haven’t. You’ve been rude, negligent, disrespectful, lazy, and worst of all you’ve been an <em>enabler. </em>You were turning into a real asshole, as your uncle would say.”</p><p>Peter laughed. “Did he really say that?”</p><p>“Once,” she said, holding up the fork wrapped in pasta to emphasize her point, “<em>Only </em>once, but still. He did say it.”</p><p>“Well…,” Peter said, bending his head down to meet her lowered gaze, “I hope that I can fix that, moving forward.”</p><p>His Aunt smiled down at him. “I know, Peter. I know you will. That’s why you’re going out as Spiderman, right?” She pronounced it as one word, emphasizing the last syllable.</p><p>He grimaced. “Aunt May, it’s <em>Spider-Man</em>. Spiderman sounds like some weird old German name.”</p><p>“Oh, whatever you’re calling yourself. You’re a superhero now, and that’s...that’s good.” She forced a brave smile. “Though I wish you could make good use of those talents of yours without putting yourself in so much danger.”</p><p>“Mom, I’m a <em>Millennial</em> . Or a Zoomer, or whatever. My <em>life </em>is danger; it’s just usually boring mundane danger, like homelessness, or student debts.”</p><p>“On <em>that </em> subject,” she said, her voice turning more irritatingly motherly, “ I have to ask you again, as your guardian; <em>are you looking for a job</em>?”</p><p>Peter let out an exasperated sigh. “Aunt May, <em>yes</em> , I <em>am</em>.” He remembered his earlier chat with the new girl, Tavia, on his way home. About the Daily Bugle, and his photography and all that.</p><p>“In fact,” he continued, before she could raise a point of skepticism or something else. “I have a job interview coming up!”</p><p>She looked surprised, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Peter, is this another one of those mutli-level marketing companies?”</p><p>“No! Definitely not,” he began, a bit too hurriedly, “It’s a newspaper.” Hopefully he could avoid admitting which paper it was, since then he’d have to also explain he didn’t know <em>anything</em> about it.</p><p>“Oh, that’s <em>so </em> much better,” she replied, sarcasm dripping from her voice, “ A <em>newspaper</em> , in these days. Which one is it? You going to start selling your pictures to the <em>Times</em>?”</p><p>Peter rubbed the back of his head, realizing he’d been trapped in a corner. “I uh..the Daily Bugle?”</p><p>“Oh,” May said, seeming nonplussed, “I don’t think I’ve heard of that paper. You didn’t make it up, did you?”</p><p>“No, no uh, you know Rand Robertson? From school?”</p><p>When May nodded, he continued. “Yeah uh, his dad works there. He recommended it to me, since I’ve got my photography and all that.”</p><p>Her expression softened. “Alright, well...that’s good, then.”</p><p>The rest of the dinner conversation was unremarkable, aside from him updating May on how Max and Tavia were doing (She was pleased to know that he was still friends with them, that was for damned sure). Once Peter had finished contributing to his part of the post-dinner cleanup, he headed out the door.</p><hr/><p>The idea of switching to Spider-Man to swing his way to the Baxter Building occurred to Peter...but it seemed like a bad idea. He couldn’t quite place why, but he felt like he should just keep a low profile unless he was <em>intending </em>to go out and do some thrilling heroics. So, public transit it was.</p><p>After a bit longer than he’d intended (Damn those exact change only buses), Peter found himself looking up at the Baxter Building. It looked so much <em>bigger </em> from down below, instead of from another skyscraper. The crowds seemed so much thicker, and the air so much...warmer, actually <em>that </em>part was good.</p><p>He headed inside, and marveled at the lobby of the Baxter Building; it was <em>enormous</em> , and decorated so lavishly...wow. Just, wow. Actual freaking chandeliers...wait, no, those were just weird decorative ceiling pieces. But the wall paintings, those were impressive-looking mosaics of the New York Skyline. And everything was just so <em>big</em>. How the Hell was he supposed to find where he was supposed to go?</p><p>“Can I help you, young man?” A chipper voice cut in, from behind Peter. He turned around to see an old, pale, white-haired mailman wearing a pair of rounded specs.</p><p>“Uh, yeah. I needed help finding one of the offices around here.” Peter rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. He could probably just ask one of the many secretaries around here, or check the directory…</p><p>“What’s your name, son?” The old man asked him, a warm smile on his face. Ok, so maybe he would feel bad just brushing the old guy off.</p><p>“Peter Parker.” Peter Parker said, feeling like he was going to regret this.</p><p>The old man extended a hand, which Peter hesitantly took.</p><p>“Willie Lumpkin,” the old man replied, shaking Peter’s hand with a surprising vigor, “Nice to meet you. So, what was it you needed help finding?”</p><p>Peter pulled his hand out of the shake a bit <em>too </em>quickly, then slapped the back of his neck to try and make it seem like he was just trying to get a fly. He wasn’t sure the old timer was convinced. “The uh...the Daily Bugle?”</p><p>The old man looked at him knowingly, nodding sagely. “Ah, yeah that one’ll be hard to find. They don’t exactly put it on the directory.”</p><p>“Oh, really? Why’s that?” Peter was getting increasingly worried that Rand must have set him up for some weird prank.</p><p>“Well mostly because it’s got an...uh...<em>reputation</em>, so to speak. Best not to draw too much attention to them being here. Come on, I’ll show you to their office.”</p><p>“Uh, sure thing, Mr. Lumpkin.”</p><p>The old guy waved a hand dismissively. “You don’t need to be so formal. Just call me Willie, okay?”</p><p>Peter nodded, and followed Willie as best he could through the thick crowd. Instead of heading to the elevator like he’d thought they were going to, the mailman took him to one of the staircase doors.</p><p>“Why are we taking the stairs?” Peter asked, concerned he was going to have to walk up a couple dozen stories. Sure, with his super stamina, he’d be fine. But he didn’t relish the old guy collapsing on him and needing to be resuscitated or carried down back to the ground floor. Or dying; he had to say he relished <em>that</em> one least of all.</p><p>“Because the elevator doesn’t go to the sub-basement.” Willie said cheerily, and <em>now </em> Peter was worried he’d walked into a horror film or something. Oh well, too late to back out now. Well, not <em>really</em> , but now he was curious just what the Hell he was walking into and he <em>had </em>to see. Maybe, if he was lucky, it’d be a new supervillain for him to fight. Or, if he was unlucky, Rand had set up some humiliating prank for him with Flash as payback for him insulting Flash earlier that day. Either way, he had to know.</p><p>The old mailman led Peter down the stairs into the inky darkness of the dimly-lit sub-basement, which spooked Peter out almost as much as that one time he’d had to chase a criminal into the sewers. The place was dingy, and dark, and dusty, and was mostly bare concrete all around. It was also <em>freezing</em>, since nobody bothered to heat a sub-basement in Winter. It probably got insanely hot in Summer, too, since the AC would seem like an extravagant expense.</p><p>Eventually though, Willie led him to one door with a translucent glass window marked with the words ‘The Daily Bug’, with an L and an E on the floor.</p><p>“Damn,” Willie said, looking down at the letters, “They really need to get that fixed.”</p><p>He turned to Peter. “Welp, here’s where I get off. Best of luck with the interview, pal. Hope to see you around soon. Not a lot of people here that actually stop to talk to ol’ Willie Lumpkin.”</p><p>Peter murmured his thanks, and the old guy shuffled off with surprising speed back towards the stairs. With some trepidation, Peter knocked on the door.</p><p>“You can come in,” a woman’s voice replied, her tone as dry as the Sahara, “The door’s never locked. Damned thing hasn’t been able to stay shut properly in years.”</p><p>Peter turned the knob, and stepped into the room. The space was just slightly better furnished than the rest of the sub-basement, and he felt a burst of warm air as he entered. He saw it was coming from a nearby space heater plugged not into a wall outlet, but into a power strip that plugged into a generator. It was actually awe-inspiring how sketchy this place was, really.</p><p>Directly in front of him was a cheap Ikea desk that looked like it had been through a <em>lot </em> of owners over the years. Sitting <em>at </em> the desk, in a little rolling chair, was a pale woman with dark brown hair cut into a pageboy bob. It was kind of an old-fashioned haircut, but it was smart-looking. She was dressed incongruously nicely for her surroundings; a nice white button down shirt, a black vest, a pair of black slacks, and some polished black slip-on shoes. Her makeup was absolutely on-point, which Peter took pride in himself for actually noticing unlike most guys he knew. She had a very classic approach; vivid red lipstick, an even pale tone with light blush on her cheeks, and some black eyeliner. Her eyes were fixed on some notebook on her desk, where she was writing away furiously about <em>something</em>.</p><p>Her brown eyes lifted, meeting Peter’s. Wow. She had <em>really </em> pretty eyes. And a <em>really </em> intense stare. Wait a minute...he <em>knew </em>her!</p><p>For a moment she seemed as transfixed as Peter was. Eventually, she found her voice. “Can I help you, sir?”</p><p>Peter struggled to remember how to move his mouth and make sounds. “I uh...yeah, I’m uh, I’m Peter Parker. I’m uh...I’m an amateur photographer and I uh, I heard the Bugle needed a photographer?”</p><p>She raised one eyebrow, Spock-style. “Really, now? You want to work here? At the Bugle?”</p><p>Peter shrugged. “I need a job and...well a job’s a job, right? Plus, this way my Aunt doesn’t get mad at me for only applying online; she hasn’t had to apply for a job since the last century.”</p><p>The girl smiled. “Fair enough. Just take a seat, I’ll see if the boss’ll speak to you.”</p><p>For a moment Peter was confused, then he saw the three little plastic chairs awkwardly shoved to one side of the ‘lobby’ to this little office. He took a seat, and waited as the girl texted on her phone. There was the sound of someone shouting in the next room, behind the door marked ‘Editor’s Office’.</p><p>“So,” Peter said, trying to make some small talk while they waited, “What’s your name?”</p><p>“Betty Brant,” the girl replied, looking at him curiously while fiddling with a pencil, “And yeah, I like Betty, and not Liz or just Elizabeth. Alliteration’s fun.”</p><p>Peter Parker raised his hands defensively, laughing a bit. “Hey, I’m not in a position to criticize.”</p><p>She grimaced sympathetically. “Ah yeah, right. Kind of...unfortunate initials there.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter said with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, “That was the source of <em>many </em>a schoolyard taunt, when I was younger.”</p><p>“What made them stop?” She asked, her tone thoughtful.</p><p>“Well, if I’m honest? I became friends with the biggest kid on the schoolyard, and suddenly it wasn’t so cool to make fun of me. Pretty soon people were acting like they’d <em>always </em>liked me, you know?”</p><p>She nodded, then said with a wry smile. “Yeah, I <em>think</em> I can remember high school.”</p><p>He suddenly felt very awkward that he’d been crushing on this woman, who he just now realized was probably <em>way </em>older than him. “Oh uh, so you’re uh, not in high school?”</p><p>The sentence made him wince, even as he said it. <em>Smooth, Parker, very smooth.</em></p><p>To his relief, she laughed and smiled at him in a friendly sort of way. “No, not anymore. I graduated two years ago, I’m going to ESU for my Bachelor’s in Sociology, then...well after that I’m not so sure, not yet.”</p><p>Two years ago...so she was 20, or thereabouts. Okay, so maybe his crush wasn’t <em>so </em>hopeless. “Yeah, I’m planning to apply to Empire State, too. They’ve got a good engineering school, and I want to go into chemical engineering.”</p><p>Betty looked impressed. “Really? That’s a tough program to get into, I hear. You think you’ve got a shot?”</p><p>Peter couldn’t help a cocky grin. “I <em>know</em> I’ve got a shot. I’ve already got a half dozen letters of recommendation to work with, and my grades are the best in my class. I’m probably gonna be Valedictorian.”</p><p>She whistled. “Not bad, Parker. So what makes you come here, if you’re trying for a STEM job?”</p><p>He shrugged. “I like photography. It’s...nice. Relaxing. I like lining up shots, working out good composition. I especially like working with instant cameras; I like the difficulty a polaroid can provide, when you can’t really edit it in post. And it’s nice, being able to look at a picture as soon as you take it. Plus, I just like old stuff, you know?”</p><p>The girl laughed, and Peter felt his stomach flutter a bit. “Wow, you’re gonna get along great with the boss, then.”</p><p>At that cue, the door behind Betty slammed open. A white-haired, pale, mustachioed man burst into the room chomping a cigar and shouting about <em>something</em>.</p><p>“Ms. Brant! I told you <em>specifically</em> that...oh.”</p><p>The old guy looked at Peter, who was sitting up stock straight in his cheap little chair.</p><p>“Who’s this?” He asked Betty, with a negligent wave at Peter.</p><p>“That’s the guy I texted you about, remember? Peter Parker, wants a job?”</p><p>His face brightened, and Peter wasn’t sure he <em>liked </em> the way this guy looked when he was smiling. Something about it felt <em>wrong</em> to him, like it was a face only meant to contain anger, and not joy. This was the face of someone who should be yelling at interns for his coffee being late, not warmly smiling at a prospective employee.</p><p>“Well that’s terrific then, you should’ve come in sooner.”</p><p>“You said you were in a meeting,” Betty replied, her voice once again deadpan, “And didn’t want to be disturbed.”</p><p>“You should know better than that, Ms. Brant! I’m never unhappy when you interrupt one of my meetings with those phoney-baloneys upstairs!”</p><p>“Those phoney-baloneys are the people who sign our paychecks, Jonah.” A deep, fatherly voice said from behind Peter. He turned to see a tall Black man with grey hair, who looked vaguely familiar to him, though he couldn’t place it.</p><p>“Ah, Robbie!” The old guy said, slapping the other man on the back before hugging him. “That doesn’t mean crap, to me! Nobody gets to boss somebody around just because they’ve got more money than them!”</p><p>Robbie sighed as he stepped away from his friend, and turned to Peter. “So, you must be Peter Parker. My son told me he recommended you apply to work here. I gotta admit, I didn’t expect you to take him up on it.”</p><p>“I nearly didn’t,” Peter admitted, a little meekly, “I was a...a little suspicious, when I first saw where the office was.”</p><p>“I know exactly what you mean!” The old guy said, waving his cigar about for emphasis as he walked back to his office, motioning for Peter to follow, “The Baxter Building’s full of nothin’ but limousine liberals and good for nothing socialites who want to get in bed with the Fantastic Four! And I mean that figuratively <em>as well as </em>literally!”</p><p>Peter followed, and swallowed back his protests that he actually meant how suspicious the sub-basement made the place. He took an offered seat in front of the editor’s desk, and read the nameplate sitting on it; J. Jonah Jameson.</p><p>Betty Brant, Robbie Robertson, Peter Parker. In the land of the alliterative names, the most alliterative must’ve been king.</p><p>“So,” Jameson began, shaking off some ashes into his ash tray, “You’re...” He checked his phone. “Peter Parker! Right, great. Good name, P.P., easy to rememeber.”</p><p>Peter winced at the initials. “Yep, very easy to remember. You can call me uh, Peter, if you want.”</p><p>“Great! That’s what I love to hear, I like to have a friendly office with my people. Everyone gets called by their first names.”</p><p>Peter quirked his head. “Then why did you call Betty “Ms. Brant”?”</p><p>“Because it’s sexist to call a woman by her first name, Peter,” he said, shouting it out as if Peter was a simpleton for asking it, “Women put a lot of work into getting the right to be called ‘Ms.’, I’m not about to deny them that!”</p><p>“Right.” It was all he could say, really. He felt like a tiny rock on a beach, being rocked by a sudden tropical storm. All he could do was try and sit here and weather it.</p><p>“So! What is it you wanted to do? Another young hot-shot would-be reporter?”</p><p>“Uh, no sir.”</p><p>“Good! We’ve got enough of those.”</p><p>“We have <em>two</em>,” Robbie noted, from the doorframe, “And Ulrich’s threatening to give his two weeks’ notice.”</p><p>“He’s always threatening that!” Jameson said, waving his cigar dismissively and accidentally scattering some ashes across his desk.</p><p>“I just wanted to be a photographer,” Peter said, shrinking back in his seat a little, “I’m in my senior year of high school so uh, I need a job soon.”</p><p>“Right, of course! Great! We don’t have a photographer anymore, we were needing a new one. Our last one was...disappointing.” A dark look crossed Jameson’s face.</p><p>“What did he do?”</p><p>“Let’s just say that I hope Eddie Brock,” Jameson said, his voice stern and surprisingly quiet for once, “Knows a very good <em>lawyer</em>.”</p><p>Peter <em>really </em>wasn’t interested in investigating that any further. “Right, well uh...I’m sure I’ll avoid anything like that.”</p><p>“What’s your experience, kiddo?”</p><p>“Well,” he began, rubbing the back of his head, “I’m the president of my school’s photography club.”</p><p>Jameson grinned, the warm expression looking a bit menacing when combined with the cigar the old man was chomping. “Perfect! You’re hired!”</p><p>Peter definitely couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What? Just like that?”</p><p>“Absolutely! That’s more qualifications than any other photographer we’ve had here. The rest were all bourgeois bastards who thought fancy equipment and recommendations from,” he scoffed, “<em>New York Times</em> editors, pah! We don’t need any of their crap around here!”</p><p>For once, Peter was really glad he was working-class. “Yeah I don’t think I’m going to have <em>that </em>particular handicap, don’t worry.”</p><p>“Excellent! Your first assignment,” Jameson began, searching in his desk for something, “Is to get me pictures of Spider-Man!”</p><p>Peter sat upright. “Bu-wha? Huh? Why do you need pictures of Spider-Man?”</p><p>“I like him! Guy shows up, wearing classic Anarcho-Syndicalist red and black, punches a bunch of cops!” He chuckled fondly, “He’s a menace! He’s perfect! Just the kind of new superhero we need in this day and age!”</p><p>Peter Parker sat there, at a complete loss for words. It took him a moment to notice that Jameson was holding out a press badge for him, and he took it with unsteady hands. Dimly, he wondered if he should correct the old man that his costume was actually dark blue and red...but he decided against such a rash, dangerous correction against his new boss. Besides, it was amusingly close to reality; he’d <em>intended </em> for it to be black and red, but the dye had come out too thin, and he’d ended up with that blue instead. It hadn’t quite been meant as a political statement, though he supposed he <em>was </em>pretty much an anarcho-syndicalist, if he had to define his politics more specifically than ‘angry young Leftist’.</p><p>“Buck up, kiddo! You’ll do great, I’m sure!”</p><p>Peter just sat there, staring at the press badge. What was <em>happening </em>today?</p><p>Suddenly, he heard something rock the building. It passed quickly, but he knew it couldn’t be a quake. There was the sound of some commotion above them, which had to be a big deal if it could be heard all the way down <em>here</em>.</p><p>“Boss!” Betty cried out, racing to the backroom and nearly bumping into Peter as she did so. “I just got news; there’s some kind of monster breaking out of the ground, in Queens! Corner of Lee and Kirby!”</p><p>His nervousness was shaken off at the news of people in danger, so close to his home. “I’ve got to go!” Peter shouted.</p><p>“Of course you do!” Jameson said, nodding aggressively. “Spider-Man’s sure to be there! Get me some pictures of him when you do! And some for the monster, too! Maybe some of some cops slacking off and not doing anything for contrast, it’ll go over great!”</p><p>Peter barely heard that last part; he’d already raced out the office and up the stairs.</p><p>Within minutes, he had changed into his Spider-Man suit and began his way swinging back towards Queens. Now he was <em>really </em>glad he hadn’t wasted webbing getting to the Baxter Building…</p><hr/><p>It was twenty agonizing minutes before he managed to reach Queens, and he quickly saw what was wrong; a giant green monster poking its ugly head out of a huge hole in the ground, two arms emerging. In one hand, it gripped some struggling figure he couldn’t clearly make out. Flying around its head was the unmistakable figure of the Human Torch, who seemed to be trying to encircle the monster with a ring of fire. Reed Richards was struggling with some ropes on the ground not too far away...how had he gotten tied up, exactly? The Thing was doing his best to charge at the monster’s face.</p><p>Spider-Man began to wonder what <em>exactly </em> he was expecting to do here. The Four probably had the situation well in hand, right? He could just...no, <em>no</em>. He had a responsibility, dammit! He had a job, too!</p><p>And, thanks to the Four, he had a good way to set himself up for it. Swinging to a building nearby the monster, Spidey quickly webbed a camera to the surface and set the camera to record it as video. Later, he’d go through the video file and select the best frames to use as shots. Automatic shutters were a thing of the past, now that you could fit a whole high-definition video-recording camera in your backpack! Once he was confident that the camera was secure, he swung off towards the monster.</p><p>“Hey, down below!” He shouted, swinging in just above the flying Human Torch.</p><p>Jenny Storm looked up at him, her eyes <em>literally </em> ablaze with fire , and metaphorically with fury. “ What do <em>you </em>want, Bug-Man?”</p><p>“It’s <em>Spider</em> -Man, and I want to help! I happen to <em>live</em> in Queens, you know!”</p><p>She scoffed, but didn’t complain further. “Fine, fine. Come on, I’m trying to get my sis out of that thing’s grip.”</p><p>Storm reached into one of her suit’s pockets (Wow, she had <em>pockets</em> in that tight-looking getup, nice) and tossed a round communicator emblazoned with a 4 up at Spider-Man. It was scalding hot, and he nearly fumbled it in his free hand.</p><p>“Careful,” Storm said, her face turned away but her smirk practically <em>audible</em>, “It’s hot.”</p><p>“I noticed.” Spidey flicked the little thing on, and hooked it to his belt.</p><p>A familiar, fatherly voice came in over the little communicator. “Who’s that up there next to Jenny? Anyone got a clear visual?”</p><p>“Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, Dr. Fantastic! Here I come to save the day! Or at least, to save Queens.”</p><p>There was a sigh, and the web-slinger couldn’t tell if it was from exasperation or relief. “Good,” Dr. Fantastic replied, his tone neutral, “We could use the help.”</p><p>“I’m trying to keep the thing encircled,” Jenny said, maintaining her rounded course while Peter struggled to keep up on his web-line, “So it doesn’t attack any of the civilians or break any buildings!”</p><p>“You keep that up, Jenny,” Ben Grimm’s voice came in over the radio, sounding strained, “The Thing’s got his hands full here with this thing’s hands!”</p><p>Spider-Man looked down, and saw that indeed, the Thing was desperately fighting against the creature’s free hand, the one that <em>wasn’t </em>grasping Sue Storm.</p><p>“I’m going to try and put together a device that I think will drive this thing back underground,” Reed replied over the comms, “Somebody’s got to get Sue out of there, first!”</p><p>“On it!” Spidey replied, already swinging towards the creature.</p><p>There was no response initially, as he swung towards the giant green monster, who’s head was slowly turning to face this new adversary, its massive, white eyes unblinking.</p><p>Eventually, Reed’s voice came in. “Alright, Spider-Man. Try and get her out of there- but don’t do anything reckless!”</p><p>Spidey held up two fingers on his free hand. “Scout’s honor, I won’t do anything stupid!”</p><p>Just as he finished saying that, he let go of the web at the peak of his arc, and leapt on top of the monster’s face. The thing felt slimy, and oozy, and all around icky. He wasn’t sure where a good place would be to punch it, but the eyes seemed like a vulnerable spot.</p><p>With a fluid motion, he fired off two jets of webbing at each of the creature’s eyes, then somersaulted over to the hand grasping Sue Storm. She looked up at him, a surprised smile on her face.</p><p>“Spider-Man! Fancy seeing you here, at this time of day!” It was admirable, how she managed to maintain some good humor like she <em>wasn’t </em>at risk of getting crushed to death by this giant monster thing.</p><p>He theatrically cocked his head and put his hands on his hips. “Well I was just in the neighborhood, though you could use...a <em>hand</em>.”</p><p>Sue groaned at the pun, or possibly at the creature reflexively tightening its grip. It was hard to tell which she found more painful, really.</p><p>“Say,” she grunted out, through gritted teeth, “Can you get this thing to loosen up?”</p><p>“Could try a few of my best one liners,” he deadpanned, “But in a literal sense, I can also do this.”</p><p>He began pummeling into the creature’s thumb as hard and fast as he could with his superior strength and speed. The blows left impact dents in the creature’s rubbery flesh, but he couldn’t break the skin...if it had skin. Nevertheless, it seemed to be doing <em>something</em>, since the thing’s grip on Sue was slackening.</p><p>She took a deep breath. “Great. That was like trying on the prototype suits Reed made, for a minute there. Now what...”</p><p>Sue screwed up her face tightly, then brightened when she seemed to get an idea. “Spider-Man, I have an idea.”</p><p>“Love it when people just call me by my superhero name! Sounds good! What’s the idea?”</p><p>“I’m going to use my force field...around myself,” She looked at him with a crooked grin, one that spoke of trepidation more than excitement, “I’ve never done that before. It’s always been something I make to protect...or to uh, <em>contain</em>, other people.”</p><p>Spider-Man stroked his masked chin thoughtfully. “So uh, are you worried you’ll explode or something?” He absentmindedly continued to slam his free hand into the monster’s thumb, to keep its grip from tightening again.</p><p>“Not quite,” she began hesitantly, “More like...well, when I push it outward, it’ll probably keep its grip on me. But it’s fingers will be farther apart, so when I turn it off again...”</p><p>Spidey tried to snap his fingers as he spoke, but the silk just gently rustled. “You’ll fall to the ground, right out of its grasp!”</p><p>“Yeah, which is a problem, because I’ve <em>also </em>never been able to maintain a shield while I’m in freefall. It’s kind of a distraction. So I’m going to need you to catch me before I go splat, okay?”</p><p>Spider-Man took a look from the hand to the ground. All told, it was a five story drop. In theory, survivable. In practice….ouch.</p><p>He saluted. “Can do, Ms. Invisible Woman, ma’am.”</p><p>“Alright, great. On the count of three; one, two, three!”</p><p>At three, she created a bubble-shaped shield of shimmering blue energy, which she remained suspended in the middle of (That was neat, he had to admit). The monster’s fingers spread outward, and it groaned in pain at the sudden force. Without much warning, she then shut the thing off and began falling.</p><p>Spidey acted quickly; he backflipped off the creature’s hand, and shot a line of web at the monster’s hand for something to swing off of. He sailed down, towards Sue...but saw he was going to miss her by about a meter. So, instead of the dramatic midair catch he’d hoped for, he settled for webbing her with his free hand, then hoisting her up.</p><p>“Not the most elegant rescue,” Sue Storm noted as they continued to swing upward, “But points for quick thinking.”</p><p>“I have a knack for that. Hang on tight!”</p><p>The Invisible Woman wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he instructed. With a free hand, he fired off his webbing at the nearest building at the apex of his arc, then let go of the web he had already been holding onto and swung until he hit the wall, then gripped it with his sticky fingers.</p><p>“One of these days you’re going to tell me how you cling to walls,” Sue began, looking in amazement, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re supporting at least 300 pounds of people with just your fingertips and the tips of your toes.”</p><p>He chuckled. “Madame, I would have never guessed you weighed that much. Unless you’re calling <em>me </em>fat, in which case...”</p><p>They both laughed at the weak joke, and he climbed his way up to the ceiling. Storm got off his back, and dusted herself off. They both turned to survey the scene; Jenny’s flames were still keeping the creature trapped, but the Human Torch was plainly tiring. The Thing was tightly gripping onto the monster’s hand he had previously been fighting, and was desperately kicking at the fingers of its now-freed hand as it tried to grab him. Reed had freed himself of the ropes (Seriously, how did he get tied up? Had the monster actually brought a proportionately tiny rope with it and tied up the guy who could escape from any bonds?) and had readied a weird doodad Spider-Man couldn’t identify.</p><p>The scientist’s voice crackled over the radio. “Spider-Man, Invisible Woman, do you copy? You’re safe, where you are?”</p><p>“Yes, we copy. We’re safe, Reed. Also, you know you don’t <em>have </em>to call me ‘Invisible Woman’, right? Everyone knows I’m Susan Storm.”</p><p>There was a brief pause, then Reed spoke again, a bit meekly. “I like the code names...”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Sue said reassuringly, “I like them too. Now send that thing back to where it came from.”</p><p>Spider-Man interjected, tapping Sue’s shoulder. “I think you mean ‘Back from whence it came’. Don’t want to end a sentence with a preposition!”</p><p>The quip elicited a very visible eyeroll from the Invisible Woman.</p><p>“Does that mean I can let go of this crazy thing?!” Ben cried out over the comm, sounding more than a bit desperate as he fought off the monster’s battered, rubbery fingers.</p><p>“Yes, Ben. Get off of that thing, and get clear! Jenny, you too!”</p><p>The Human Torch didn’t reply vocally, and simply flew away from the beast. Spider-Man saw that she flew up into the air, and drew a “4” in the air in her little fiery sky-writing. Show-off.</p><p>The Thing got out of the way <em>far </em>less elegantly. He let go of the monster’s hand, and was flung clear. He soared, like some rocky, orange, Jewish baseball, until he crashed into a storefront window.</p><p>“Ben, are you alright?” Sue shouted desperately into the comm, when she saw how roughly Ben had landed.</p><p>“Guuuhhhh...” Was the sound that came back in response.</p><p>The Invisible Woman smiled. “Good, thanks for letting me know.”</p><p>With everyone cleared from the horrible, giant, disgusting and weird monster thing, Reed pressed the button on his doodad, and it...kinda glowed. Bright green, which Spider-Man was pretty sure either meant radiation or that the Borg had suddenly invaded Queens. A wave of green something-or-other came out of the device, and hit the monster, which roared its displeasure. In crawled back into its little hole, and eventually was gone altogether from sight.</p><p>The crowd cheered, and the four gathered in one spot. With some hesitation, given how he’d usually been received by crowds, Spider-Man came to their side as well. To his amazement, Reed put a comforting arm over his shoulder, and smiled at him.</p><p>When the crowds had finally begun to disperse, Reed turned to the others and adopted a serious expression.</p><p>“It’s the Mole Man.” he said, in a voice that made it sound like this was a very serious matter and not some freaky hybrid of a man and a rodent.</p><p>“That thing was a Mole Man?” Spider-Man asked, alarmed at how such a creature got <em>that </em>kind of name.</p><p>Reed shook his head, and pinched his brow. “No. The Mole Man is a...he’s a...”</p><p>“He’s a freaky-looking dude who used to live up here, then he went underground and became king of all the weird underground stuff that lives deep in the Earth’s crust.” Jenny said, her voice making it clear <em>exactly </em>how ridiculous she found the thing she’d just said.</p><p>Spider-Man nodded, and spoke in a melodramatically somber tone. “That sounds very serious, indeed. I can’t imagine anyone discounting the threat he poses.”</p><p>The Thing, still nursing a bruised (Did he bruise? He was made of rocks, rocks didn’t bruise, right?) head, looked at Spider-Man. “This ain’t a joke, kid. Mole Man’s trouble. He’s nearly destroyed New York. <em>Twice</em>.”</p><p>“Ouch,” Spider-Man replied, a little horrified at how close he’d apparently been to dying at the hands of a weird rodent king, “And I take it burying gum in the yard isn’t going to stop him?”</p><p>“No, unfortunately this is going to require a much more...involved effort.” Reed looked down at the hole, then at the others.</p><p>Susan looked a bit apprehensive. “Reed, we can’t just go down there again. Last time we did, Viktor took advantage of our absence and rigged the Baxter Building to explode! We would’ve died if Namor hadn’t changed his mind about helping him!”</p><p>Spider-Man had heard of that incident, though only in vague terms. It had been front-page news, but the Peter Parker who had read it hadn’t cared much about any adventures of the Fantastic Four that didn’t involve spaceships or fantastic science, so he hadn’t paid attention. For probably the pettiest reason yet, he again cursed his irresponsible past self. Damn him, making Present!Peter have to learn stuff as he went along! Oh, if he could give his past self a piece of his mind, then <em>he’d </em>be sorry...</p><p>Reed nodded. “I know. But this time, we have a substitude...”</p><p>They all turned to look at Spider-Man, who really didn’t like the implications of that. “Wha...me? Defend New York? From weird underground mutants and mad scientists from countries I can’t even find on a map?!”</p><p>“You can do it, kid.” Ben said, rubbing Spidey’s head fondly. “I can tell. Ya got promise in yer eye.”</p><p>“You can’t see my eyes, though. That could just be promise in my mask. Mask promises can’t be trusted.” Spider-Man was trying to be glib, but in truth, the idea of being responsible for guarding New York wasn’t just unappealing; it was <em>terrifying</em> . He’d been doing this job for a few <em>weeks</em>, now he was going to guard it all by himself for however long it took the Four to get back from underground?</p><p>“There are...other heroes,” Reed said ambiguously, looking off into the horizon, “But none active in this city right now.”</p><p>“We could give him Logan’s number. They’re in Westchester but, I’m sure he could spare a few people.”</p><p>Peter didn’t know what she was talking about there, but he felt like he’d heard the name ‘Logan’ somewhere before. Something about bacon...or was it hockey…</p><p>“Logan <em>can’t</em> spare the people. Not after Trask’s toys had their little <em>rampage</em>.”</p><p>Oh. Right. That. The Night of the Sentinels. Aunt May <em>still</em> hadn’t been able to patch all of the bullet holes in their walls, and it had been<em> months.</em> Spider-Man was pretty sure there hadn’t been any Mutants in their entire <em>block</em>, let alone their <em>house</em>, but they’d still nearly been killed by those flying machine guns all the same. The casualties any Mutant group had suffered, including the rumored group known as the ‘X-Men’ operating out of Westchester...yeah, no wonder they couldn’t give him backup.</p><p>“There’s Rogers,” Reed noted, and Spider-Man didn’t need a reminder to know what <em>that </em>was about, “But he’s got his own issues. So, it’s up to our web-slinging friend here.”</p><p>Jenny scoffed. “Maybe I should stay behind. I don’t do so well down there, anyway, and I think he could <em>use </em>the backup.”</p><p>Reed narrowed his eyes. “Under normal circumstances? I’d accept that. Under these circumstances, though? Not to mention how you’ve been <em>treatin</em>g our new friend? No, absolutely not. Spider-Man is staying behind, and he’s going to protect New York while we’re gone. It should only be a few days, a week at most.”</p><p>He turned to face Spider-Man. “I wish I’d had more time to prepare you for something like this, but all trials by fire are unexpected, by their nature. I know you can do it.”</p><p>With that, he and the others leapt into the big hole, Jenny shooting him a weird dirty look before she put her flames back on and flew in after them. He was left standing around for a moment, before he noticed the cops who’d been keeping the crowd away were looking at him more intently, now that the Fantastic Four had left.</p><p>“Well, you heard the man. I’m in charge, while dad’s out!” Spidey shot a web at a nearby building, and began swinging his way home.</p><p><em>It probably won’t be that bad, </em> he told himself, <em>I mean, what’re the odds...no, no. Don’t. You’re a Parker, and Parker luck is always bad. Your ancestors picked the one White Star Liner that would </em> sink <em>on its way here</em> ... <em>but then, they also made it here, in the end. So, maybe you’ll run into trouble. But with any luck, a Carpathia will show up </em> <em>just in time</em> <em>, to bail </em> you <em>out of the icy water.</em></p><hr/><p>In the Master Planner’s Lair beneath Staten Island, Doctor Octopus silently reviewed footage on the vast screen. She watched the acrobatic movements of this new superhero, as he deftly leapt off the Mole Man’s monster’s hand, and performed a feat of acrobatics that would have made him the envy of the world’s greatest mundane acrobats.</p><p>That was what the Tinkerer noticed, anyway. He was always there, even when the Doctor wasn’t. He was the only perpetual occupant of the lair, and he resented the way most of his cohorts treated him more like a janitor than a peer. He’d been recruited by the Master Planner anonymously, the same as the rest of them. Like the rest of them, he had been promised something he’d long wanted; the chance to work with advanced technology, which the Master Planner had readily furnished. None of the others, save for Doctor Octopus of course, understood how amazing it all was. Only she treated him with dignity, as well, and for that alone he considered her a friend. Admittedly a rather...grudging friend, for her odd behavior and irritatingly condescending attitude, but a friend nonetheless.</p><p>“Tinkerer,” she asked the little man, examining footage of Spider-Man fighting the creature alongside the Fantastic Four, and then some of him battling policeman, “You know something that’s odd?”</p><p>Tinkerer shook his head. “I’m afraid that I don’t.”</p><p>“You see, it’s interesting. From what I’ve been led to understand, he has claimed his superhuman abilities to be solely derived from<em> spiders</em> . Through the mechanism of a spider bite in a laboratory , specifically, and though he never <em>quite </em>specified which facility it was, he gave some clues. He also did not think to identify the species of spider, but in this case I am not sure it is relevant.”</p><p>As usual, the Tinkerer had no idea where she was going with this. He felt, as he so often did, like Watson being lectured to by Holmes. “Indeed, Doctor? And what do you think?”</p><p>“I suspect that he was bitten at the laboratory of one Dr. Miles Warren,” she noted, tapping a few keys on the screen, and somehow switching it completely to a satellite view of the lab, “Which is itself interesting, because I know that Dr. Warren has long been working on something...else. A few other things, actually, but most interesting was a particular <em>side project</em>. That though, is also irrelevant; the real thing to note is that he had a very special <em>guest</em> not too long ago. Likely, the recipient of the fruits of the aforementioned side project.”</p><p>She turned to the Tinkerer, and seemed to smile, though it was hard to tell behind her gaiter and sunglasses. “This guest was a man going by the name of ‘Etienne Langley’, but whom my intelligence indicates was an agent of the reactionary terrorist organization known as HYDRA. He was the recent recipient of a genetic infusion derived from the infamous ‘super soldier serum genome’, or ‘S3’ as it’s more often called.”</p><p>“And what is so interesting about that?” The Tinkerer all but sighed as he spoke; he was a technician, not a geneticist like the Doctor was. She knew he didn’t know the implications of all this, and yet she always dragged it out. Did she delight in his ignorance? Was this a game to her? She certainly seemed to be having <em>fun</em>, he had to admit that. More than once he’d noticed her hands vibrating in her coat pockets, as if she could not physically contain her giddiness.</p><p>“To put it simply; almost none of the abilities he is exhibiting would logically stem from any genetic transfer from a spider. Save for his webbing and his frankly <em>miraculous</em> ability to climb on walls. However, nearly all of them correspond clearly-if a bit unevenly-to the abilities known to be tied to the S3.”</p><p>The Tinkerer was starting to follow. “Thus...you think he got them from this agent of Hydra? How?”</p><p>“I think the spider that bit him had bitten that agent first,” she began, “Who, being so recently infused, would still have the active retrovirus in his system.”</p><p>She looked at him, sensing his incomprehension. “I won’t bore you with the details, but...to put it simply, a retrovirus is the most common means by which genetic infusion is accomplished. There’s a great deal of...oh, never mind,” she waved a hand dismissively, “The point being, I think the retrovirus, not known for being terribly picky, took some spider DNA while it was in its arachnid host. It then transfused those genes along with the super soldier genes when it infected this Spider-Man.”</p><p>“How do you know about him being bitten by the spider? I hadn’t heard it from anywhere else.”</p><p>“To put it simply,” she said, pushing her glasses back onto her face, “I know who he really is. I know this, because I noticed that only <em>one </em> paper printed with any pictures about the recent attack, and I know...well, that would be telling. But to put it simply, I have a reliable source that <em>somebody</em> was bitten by a spider at that facility, was sick for a while, and matches the profile for Spider-Man.”</p><p>She grinned. “Ergo, he is <em>exactly </em>what the Master Planner needs, to complete his project. The S3 genes...they’re the missing key. The ideal replacement to the terrigen mists we were unable to acquire yesterday.”</p><p>“Ah,” the Tinkerer said, annoyed at the way she’d stiffed him on the juiciest details, “And that’s convenient, with your plans to trap him, yes? And it all times well with the Fantastic Four’s disappearance. That’s a spot of luck.”</p><p>“Oh, not luck at all,” now she<em> had</em> to be smirking smugly behind that mask, “The Master Planner has a mutual ally, of sorts, to the Mole Man. He informed the Master Planner of this incoming attack, and how it would draw the Four out of New York. Then, the Master Planner helpfully informed me, and I made my own plans around them.”</p><p>Her tone became all but gloating as she continued. “Now that he’s all alone, I am free to meet him. Face to face...again.”</p><p>The Tinkerer wondered what <em>that </em>meant, but in the end simply decided to take his leave of the Doctor. She was rather exhausting, and all these twisting and turning games were a strain on him. He kept wondering; what was the Master Planner’s goal? What had he so rarely shown himself on the monitors? Why was Doctor Octopus always required to operate the computer when he was calling? Why had he allowed Doctor Octopus, a mere teenage girl, so much leeway? What did he have planned for New York?</p><p>And, most ominously of all, what did he have planned for his servants, once his plans had come to fruition?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Issue #3: A Day in the Strife</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After a wonderful, dreamless sleep, Peter Parker blinked his eyes open. Ah, the day felt like it was off to a great start already. He felt refreshed, well-rested, ready to face the day. There were birds singing outside, the smell of delicious carb-rich breakfast food wafting up to his room from the kitchen, and sunlight shining in through the door.</p><p>Wait a minute. Sunlight, bright and yellow and <em>not </em> the orange-red of dawn’s early light . In <em>early January, </em>when the sun didn’t even begin rising until 7:30 or so. School started at 9:00, and if he wanted to get there he usually had to leave by 8:00. With growing horror, Peter looked at the digital clock on his desk.</p><p><em>10:30</em> . It was <em>10:30</em> . He was late, he was late, he was VERY VERY late. At best, he’d miss about half the day. More likely, he’d just get marked absent even if he showed up- unless he <em>really </em>hurried. With the superhuman grace and speed that came with being Spider-Man, Peter hurriedly threw on his clothes, awkwardly tossed his school supplies and some granola bars into his backpack, and threw open the door-</p><p>Or was about to, before his spider-sense flared. He didn’t know <em>why </em>it was flaring at his impulse to throw the door open, but he obeyed it. Gently, he pulled the door backwards...and saw Aunt May standing on the other side, looking surprised but not displeased at him, holding a tray full of delicious breakfast food, a hot cup of tea, and a glass of orange juice.</p><p>“Peter! You’re up! I was just going to give you breakfast in bed...I suppose it’s just breakfast, now!”</p><p>“Aunt May, what’s going on? Wait a minute...is it a snow day?”</p><p>She nodded happily, smiling at him. “Yep! They called it around 7, so I decided to let you sleep in. I know, I know, you’re going to say you would’ve rather gone out there and been a responsible superhero, but even Spider-Man needs his sleep!”</p><p>He smiled, a warm feeling filling his chest. “You’re right, you’re right. I feel silly, now. I could’ve been lazy, and got another few minutes of sleep and breakfast in bed!”</p><p>His aunt chuckled. “Well, that’s alright. We can come on downstairs, and sit and talk while we have breakfast. You still need to tell me all about that tussle you got into with the Fantastic Four!”</p><p>Peter nodded, and shrugged off his backpack. He followed his aunt down the stairs, and they spent a pleasant few minutes digging into their breakfast.</p><p>Aunt May was following along pretty well with it all, which almost surprised Peter. Of course, she’d been very interested in the superheroes ever since they first appeared. Even before the Fantastic Four, actually, she’d talk his ears off about the Invaders, their leader Captain America, and the way they’d ended World War II early. She was especially fond of telling him the Reilly family tradition that Albert Reilly, her father, had fought alongside the legendary British superheroine Spitfire, and her rumored lover the Soviet Superheroine Alpha Red. Peter wasn’t sure it was <em>true</em>, but it had always been encouraging that his Aunt had never refrained from mentioning that the two ladies only ever had eyes for each other. It had made coming out much easier and less daunting than it might’ve been.</p><p>Not long after they had finished eating, there was a knocking at the door. With how it was coming down outside, neither of them had expected company. What was up?</p><p>“I’ll get it,” Peter said with a smile, hiding his suspicion, “In case it’s a supervillain.”</p><p>He played it off as a joke, but in reality...he was worried. His spider-sense would alert him if something was about to go wrong, but nothing was happening yet. Hopefully it was just the mail.</p><p>When he opened the door, he was a <em>bit </em>surprised. It was not, in fact, the mail.</p><p>It was Max Dillon, smiling at his friend and bundled up so tightly beneath a parka and a heavy pair of pants he was barely recognizable. Standing next to him was a man Peter didn’t recognize wearing a fur-linned aviator jacket overtop a striped green shirt. He was white, powerfully built, and looking at Peter like Ben would look at a vintage car when he couldn’t tell if it was in pristine condition or a lemon.</p><p>“Hey Pete.” Max said, his teeth chattering non-stop.</p><p>Peter looked at Max, just a <em>little </em> bit amused at his friend’s discomfort. “Hey, Max. You’re not... <em>cold</em>, are you?”</p><p>Max rolled his eyes. “You’re <em>hilarious</em>, Peter Pakrer. Can I come inside now?”</p><p>Peter nodded, and ushered Max in through the threshold. The man accompanying Max was still standing outside, and Peter cleared his throat.</p><p>“So uh...who’re you?”</p><p>The man laughed, in a way that reminded Peter more of Ben Grimm than his Uncle Ben. “I’m his dad.”</p><p>Peter did a double take at Max and this guy. The man looked...<em>old </em> enough to be Max’s dad, to be sure, but...not much of a resemblance between them. It also occurred to him that he’d <em>never </em>met Max’s dad, and felt a little embarrassed about it.</p><p>“I’m his step dad,” the man said, before he extended a hand. “Flint, Flint Marko.”</p><p>Peter shook the proferred hand, receiving a firm handshake in return. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Marko.” He should’ve pieced that together; he’d heard Max talk once or twice about how his dad had died when he was really young, and his mom remarried a few years back. He hadn’t said much about the guy, beyond that he was a really cool dad and that he had a well paying job that kept him <em>really </em>busy.</p><p>“Peter?” Aunt May said from the kitchen, sounding like she was getting up and walking over, “Is that Maximus Dillon?”</p><p>“Hi, Mrs. Parker.” Max replied, waving politely at her and bending sideways to be seen past Peter.</p><p>“Oh, Max! It’s so good to see you! It feels like it’s been <em>years</em>!”</p><p>“It’s definitely been years,” Flint Marko replied, in a voice as dry as sand from the Sahara, “Since Max hasn’t stopped by as long as I’ve been his dad, and I married his mom...let’s see...three years, four months, one week, and two days ago!”</p><p>May made an impressed sound as she scooched into the doorframe next to Peter. “A man who remembers an anniversary off the top of his head! Your mother is a lucky woman, Mr. Dillon!”</p><p>Marko rubbed the back of his head, smiling. “It’s not <em>that </em>hard to remember, just gotta remember the last one and you basically remember ‘em all.”</p><p>As Max began making himself comfortable and pulling out a DVD binder, his dad began to turn away.</p><p>“Where are you going?” May asked him, concern in her voice.</p><p>Peter facepalmed. <em>Oh good God, please no</em> . <em>Please Aunt May, please do not make it even </em> less <em>likely I’ll be able to leave the house and do </em> anything <em>as Spider-Man today</em>.</p><p>“I’ve still got work today, I’m afraid. Snow may close schools, but it doesn’t close the shops, know what I’m saying?”</p><p>May frowned, but nodded. “Well that’s a bit more what I expected from a man, but I suppose I can’t be <em>too </em>disappointed you’re so dedicated to providing for your family.”</p><p>He smiled at her, and nodded his head. “Family’s the most important thing in the world. Next most important? Is friends.”</p><p>It seemed like he was looking at Peter when he said that, and he felt a pang of guilt. Was Marko (It felt weird to call him Max’s dad) telling him, in his own subtle way, that he knew how much Peter had neglected Max? That he’d repaid Max’s kindness and friendship with passive dismissal and had laughed along whenever Max had been on the receiving end of one of Flash’s ‘hilarious’ pranks?</p><p>Yeah, he probably did.</p><p>Whatever his motivation, Flint Marko headed off towards his big pickup truck and rode off towards downtown. He noticed the guy had never <em>quite </em> specified what his job was, which was a little weird. Then again, maybe it was something humiliating that he didn’t want to fess up to. That, or maybe <em>he </em>had superpowers, and got up to all kinds of shenanigans during the daytime like Peter did.</p><p>“So, Peter,” Max began, as Peter closed the front door. “What did you want to do today?”</p><p><em>Well Max, </em> Peter thought to himself, bitterness rising inside him, <em>I’d really hoped to go out and do some </em> good <em>, but th</em> <em>en you showed up and...and now I have to spend time with one of my best friends instead of beating up cops or fighting supervillains or saving people from fires.</em></p><p>Peter stopped himself, and took a breath. He should’ve been <em>happy </em> about this. It was a <em>nice </em>thing...and Aunt May had pointed out earlier that he needed to take breaks, get rest, all that, even as a superhero.</p><p>Still, the thought of someone else out there dying, like Uncle Ben did, because he couldn’t work up the nerve to tell Max no…</p><p>Peter sighed, damning his commitment to this ‘responsibility’ thing, and looked at Aunt May pleadingly. “I uh, I was trying to say so earlier, but I really need to head out and get pictures of Spider-Man. You know, for my job.”</p><p>He <em>really </em>hoped his message was clear. Unfortunately, if it was, Aunt May didn’t seem to think that was enough excuse.</p><p>“Well I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time to take pictures later. I get the feeling that if you go out <em>now</em> , when you don’t even know where he might be <em>needed</em>, you’ll just wander around for hours until you stumble onto something. And by then, you might be so tired you won’t be able to do much good.”</p><p>Peter blinked, not sure he’d understood her correctly. Or rather, wishing he hadn’t. Because, to his annoyance, it made <em>sense</em> . His spider-powers didn’t come with a ‘person in need locator’ or anything like that; until something came in over the news app or on the TV, there wasn’t really anything to <em>do </em>except sit and wait. She was right, if he headed out there now without a plan, he’d just end up tired, soaked, and frozen.</p><p>So, somewhat reluctantly, he sat down on the living room couch next to Max.</p><p>“What were you hoping to watch, Max?” Peter asked, feeling a sense of dread as his least-loved friend picked from one of about three movies for them to watch.</p><p>“Honestly? I thought you wanted to pick.”</p><p>Peter contemplated that...and dismissed it. He picked what they watched often enough.</p><p>“No, I think you should go ahead.”</p><p>Max nodded, and then, to his surprise, turned to Aunt May. “Hey, May. What’s your favorite movie?”</p><p>“<em>My Cousin Vinny</em> .” She replied without hesitation, “ I love Marisa Tomei in that... <em>rawr</em>.”</p><p>Peter winced, feeling so much embarrassment at his aunt commenting on <em>anyone’s </em>attractiveness.</p><p>At the end of the movie, Max was wiping tears from his eyes, he’d been laughing <em>that </em>hard.</p><p>“Okay, yeah, that was a riot. Did you want to watch something else?” Max eyed the DVD tower, and he and Peter followed up <em>My Cousin Vinny </em> with some more courtroom movies..because really, why not ? Max picked o ut <em>To Kill a Mockingbird, </em> which caused an awkward amount of mood whiplash after the previous film. Peter...well, he cheated, and put on <em>Duck Soup</em> . He’d grown up with Marx Brothers movies and he just needed to <em>laugh </em>after being reminded of how damned unfair the law really was in this country.</p><p>As the third of their movies wrapped up, Aunt May stepped into the room. She was smiling, but looking at Peter in a knowing way.</p><p>“Peter, I just thought you should know that there’s reports of something <em>odd </em>going on near the Baxter Building. That’s where the Bugle’s office is, right?”</p><p>Peter nodded, and stood up. “It is, yeah. Anything specific?”</p><p>May shook her head. “But I think that it’s the kind of thing that might need <em>Spider-Man</em>. Do you think you could head on down, and take your pictures?”</p><p>“Yeah, I think I should. I’ll head upstairs, get changed into some proper clothes, get my camera, and get going.”</p><p>He turned to Max, who was looking disappointed, but not crushed. “Sorry for cutting things short, Max, but...well, I’ve got a job.”</p><p>“It’s good,” Max said, looking disappointed but understanding, “I getcha. Do you mind if I stay here for a while? My dad said he couldn’t pick me up until around three.”</p><p>“I think that’d be fine, dear.” May said, smiling warmly at her nephew’s friend.</p><p>With that settled, Peter headed on upstairs, and stripped down, putting on a set of long, thermal underwear to wear beneath his spider-suit (Spider silk was comfortable as all get out and as durable as kevlar, but on its own it wasn’t the world’s greatest insulator). He then put on his Spider-suit’s pants and shirt, before slipping on his belt of many pouches. He stuffed it with his webbing cartridges, his mask, his gloves, his spider-shoes (Spider-socks? What did you call foot coverings made of silk that weren’t supposed to go inside shoes?) and assorted other little gizmos. Last of all, he put on his web-shooters.</p><p>After throwing on his civvies back on top of the spider-gear, Peter put his polaroid camera <em>and </em> his fancy flash camera into his backpack, and headed down the stairs. When he did, he was <em>very </em> surprised to see <em>another </em>guest had stopped by.</p><p>“Ah,” Tavia Smith said, sipping a cup of tea as she looked up at him with what looked like wry amusement, “There’s the Bugle’s new star photographer. I see I got here just in the nick of too late.”</p><p>Max and May were on the couch in the living room, watching some old romantic comedy by the sounds of it. That was good; made Peter feel better about ditching Max if he’d at least be having some fun while Peter was gone.</p><p>Aunt May turned her head over the couch. “Oh, Peter! Your other friend stopped by, and I thought it’d be neighborly to at least let her stay for a cup of tea.”</p><p>He chuckled, wondering why she felt it necessary to <em>explain </em> that. Sure, Tavia didn’t usually come by...in fact, she’d <em>never </em>come by before. Huh. Weird that this was only happening now. “Hey, Tavia. I was just going off to go to work, since I still gotta go take pictures for the Bugle.”</p><p>“Yes,” she said, stirring her tea idly, “Like I unsubtly hinted earlier, I saw the pictures you got of Spider-Man yesterday. Damned impressive stuff.”</p><p>He shrugged, and rubbed the back of his head. “Well, you know...I <em>do </em>practice a lot. But uh, thanks. I appreciate the compliment, really.”</p><p>She smiled at him. “It’s just me telling the truth, you know. Not quite meant to flatter your ego, or anything.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, like that doesn’t make it <em>more </em>of a compliment.” He grinned at her, noting the cute way she was blushing.</p><p>She rubbed the back of her head awkwardly, and not for the first time Peter couldn’t help thinking how much he wished she was bi, too.</p><p><em>No, </em> he thought to himself, <em>Bad Peter! No attraction to </em> <em>your</em> <em> lesbian bestie! </em></p><p>“Well uh, anyway,” she nervously began, hopefully oblivious to his inner monologue, “I like that...well I mean um...you know, you practice a lot, and that’s important. I mean, you work hard. And that’s great. There’s a lot of people who think some things, especially art, are just matters of talent.”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” Peter replied with a knowing nod, “I get that all the time. People think I just picked up a camera one day and boom! Out came Pulitzer material!”</p><p>“You were always quite the <em>shutterbug</em> !” Aunt May shouted from the other room, with an emphasis on that last word that made Peter cringe. She <em>really </em>would have to be more discreet about allusions to his Spider-Manning.</p><p>Tavia just nodded, an odd little smirk on her face. If Peter was paranoid, he’d think that meant she was in on the joke. “Anyway, I had hoped to just stop by and ask if you would help me out with a new project.”</p><p>Peter quirked his head. “Sure thing, what is it?”</p><p>She beamed. “It’s a genetic survey! I wanted to see, specifically, the connection between epigenetic conditions and different commutes. The Parkers and Reillys have lived out here for a couple generations and traveled roughly the same distance yes? In their workplace commutes?”</p><p>That was directed at Aunt May, who returned with a firm nod. “My ma would always tell me how <em>hard </em>she had it as a young seamstress, the child of Irish-Jewish immigrants, traveling downtown every day and spending more time commuting than she did at home, all to work in an awful little sweatshop.”</p><p>Tavia snapped her fingers at that. “See, that? That’s exactly what I was looking for. That sort of environmental condition.”</p><p>“So...what did you need from me, exactly?” Peter wasn’t getting this. At all. Tavia <em>often </em> had some <em>weird </em>science projects going on, but this one was...well it was over his head.</p><p>“DNA, Peter! I need a DNA sample, that’s all.”</p><p>“Oh.” That...well, as far as he knew there wasn’t anything obviously weird about his DNA, right? He’d actually gotten it examined by the doctor in the first days after he started developing his powers, and they said they hadn’t noticed anything weird about him at all. Of course, he’d <em>claimed </em>it was about his concerns he’d inherited some hereditary illnesses, but...well he didn’t actually know enough about DNA to know if you could overlook stuff like ‘Spider DNA’ easily.</p><p>“See uh...I’d rather not,” Peter said, rubbing his upper arm nervously, “I’ve got this thing about needles.”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t need needles. I was just going to work with some hair folicle samples. A dozen would be plenty, as long as its got some of the root.”</p><p>Peter grimaced. That would be a lot harder to talk his way out of, since he wasn’t exactly short on hairs. “Well...I guess. Yeah, okay, sure.”</p><p>With some hesitation, he pulled out some of his extra-long hairs and handed them over to Tavia. She examined them, noting with approval that he’d gotten the roots, which were the only bits she needed, then put them in a ziploc baggie. She murmured some thanks, then went back to her tea. There was <em>definitely </em>something guilty-looking in her expression...no. It was Tavia. She had her own anxiety to deal with like the rest of them. No need to read too much into facial expressions.</p><p>Without another word besides a muttered goodbye, he raced out the door. There was no time to dwell on what might happen, and every reason to hurry for the Baxter Building. If nothing else, saving some people in trouble might help assuage any concerns he had.</p><p>He decided to take the scenic route, this time. Nothing had seemed like it’d be of any <em>immediate </em>concern, and as cold as it was out he’d prefer getting his blood pumping to counting on the speciously reliable heating of NYC’s public transit.</p><p>A quick costume change later, and he was Spider-Man, swinging from building to building as he made his way from Queens to downtown Manhattan. As he did so, he passed over a scene that made him stop; a crowd of police cars, gathered around what looked like a homeless camp. Oh <em>no</em>.</p><p>“This is your last warning!” One cop, a middle-aged guy with blonde hair was shouting over a megaphone. “<em>Disperse</em>. If you do not comply, we cannot be held responsible for what happens to you!”</p><p><em>Oh yeah, </em> Spider-Man thought to himself, his blood beginning to boil, <em>Like </em> <em>people like </em> <em>you </em> ever <em>face consequences for </em> your <em>actions</em>.</p><p>The scene played in his head again. His old uncle, refusing to give up the car he’d owned most of his life to some cop who was claiming he could take it because of some law he’d never heard of. The cop, a fresh-faced little sociopath with a gun, all too eager to exercise his <em>authority</em>. The sight he couldn’t forget, and didn’t dare try to; his uncle’s torso, a new hole in it, blood streaming down his back as he crumpled to the ground and the cop hopped in his car, driving off.</p><p>Uncle Ben, who’d never hurt anything. Who’d worked for everything he’d owned. Who <em>died</em> , so some punk with a gun could get a vintage fucking <em>car</em>.</p><p>“Hey!” Spider-Man shouted, as he swung down towards the cops. Immediately, of course, they opened fire. Trigger happy thugs, the lot of them. He had taken just a moment to set up his camera on a nearby wall, which was rapidly becoming reflex for him before swinging into a scene. It was good; this had to be the kind of shots Jameson <em>craved</em> . He was nuts, but he was an honest old muckraker, and Spider-Man respected <em>that </em>much.</p><p>“New York’s finest, everybody!” Spider-Man shouted, as he clung to a nearby wall, “Firing on garishly-dressed superheroes and innocent homeless people alike! What dastardly criminals will they attack next? Paramedics? Firefighters? Children who are crying just a little bit too loudly?”</p><p>The pigs took exception to that one, and seemed ready to fire again. There were about a dozen of them; child’s play, for Spider-Man. He leapt into the air, and fired off web after web, yanking their guns out of their hands. Each landed in his hands and, in one fluid motion, he stripped it. He did it again, and again, and again. Soon there was a pile of little black bricks all around him, and the cops were standing there looking dumbstruck up at him.</p><p>The crowd of homeless folks were, naturally, cheering. He saw that some of them had gotten out their own phones, and were recording everything that was happening. Perfect. The cops had probably turned off their body cams too, in expectation of some incoming brutality they’d rather not be recorded, so they wouldn’t have a shred of proof in their defense if anything happened.</p><p>That had never stopped them before, of course. But this time was different; this time, it was a <em>superhero</em>. And cops couldn’t <em>kill </em>superheroes. They could harass them, bully them, and even try to arrest them. But the fact was, against someone like Spider-Man, the<em> cops</em> were the ones who were outgunned.</p><p>It was nice to make sure they were on the receiving end of that helpless feeling, for once.</p><p>The lead cop swaggered towards him, chewing his cud like an angry bull. “Alright you little punk. You’re under arrest for theft of police property, disturbing the peace, interfering in police business-”</p><p>Spider-Man cut him off with a quick web shot; not aimed at his mouth or anything like that, but at his <em>badge</em>. It popped off the cop’s chest, and flew back into Spider-Man’s spider-hand.</p><p>“Captain George Stacy,” he shouted loudly, reading off the badge, “Oooh, serial number 74! You’re a big shot, ain’t ya? Getting a number that low. You must’ve killed a <em>lot </em>of people to get there. Do you have any kids?”</p><p>Stacy growled out his response. “I have a daughter and two sons! And they deserve better than to see their father threatened by some <em>clown</em>!”</p><p>“I think what you mean to say,” he began, adopting as condescending a tone as possible, “Is that they deserve better than to have pork for a parental unit!”</p><p>The Captain reflexively reached for his gun, but found his holster was empty. He motioned to one of his agents to go and gather something out of their cars.</p><p>Pepper spray, probably. Other kinds of riot gear, which they had <em>probably </em> been planning to use to disperse the crowd. Spider-Man wasn’t having any of <em>that,</em> not when he could stop them <em>and </em> ruin their whole <em>month </em>in the process.</p><p>Now was a time for trying something <em>new</em>. He had experimented with his strength before, and well...it had amazed even <em>him</em>. No clue how <em>spider </em>DNA had made him as mighty as a locomotive, but he wasn’t about to complain.</p><p>With an ‘Alley oop!’ he backflipped off the wall and onto the ground, before shooting up at the space between the two buildings on either side of the side street. He quickly made a massive web, strong and sturdy and <em>wide</em>.</p><p>“Okay, coppers,” he began, imitating a Coney Island carnival barker from the 30s, “It’s time for a test of strength! I’ll go first!”</p><p>With a deliberately exaggerated grunt, he reached one arm under a cop car and lifted it into the air above him. He heard the metal straining, since all the car’s weight was going onto just one little spot, so before it could break on him or something he punted it into the air. The car careened through the sky until it landed on the webbing. The crowd <em>gasped</em>, cops included, as the webbing held firm (if a little wobbly) and the cop car was suspended a couple stories in mid-air.</p><p>“Still not impressed yet? Then watch this!” Before any of the police could stop him, he did the same to the other couple squad cars, until they were all haphazardly laid out on the webbing above.</p><p>“Ta-da! It’s been lovely having you all as an audience,” he began, casually side-stepping an oncoming blow from one very angry Captain Stacy, “But I really must dash.”</p><p>“JUST STAND STILL AND SHUT UP ALREADY YOU FUCKING <em> <b>PUNK</b></em>!” The Captain <em> screamed </em>at the top of his lungs, his face nearly as red as Spidey’s suit.</p><p>Spidey shrugged. “If you insist!” He deliberately backed up a bit, and then waited for the Captain to punch him. When the <em> very </em>gullible man did so, he casually caught it with one hand, miming a yawn with the other. There was a quiet crunch from Stacy’s hand, as his hand took the full force of suddenly being stopped.</p><p>“Gah,” he screamed, pulling his hand away from Spider-Man’s grip, “You...you little...you...”</p><p>Spider-Man waved a hand, dismissively. “No need to thank me, Captain, it’s all in a day’s work. Now you boys in blue stay safe out there!”</p><p>He leapt onto the nearby wall, and, as a parting gift, webbed all the cops to the ground where they stood. He made certain they weren’t beneath the cars when he did so.</p><p>“Now just remember, that stuff dissolves in a few hours! Best get your cars down before they do! Oh and while you're at it? <em>Get out of here, </em> and never bother these people again! Or else you’ll get a <em> lot </em> more of your precious little toys broken, and <em> worse</em>. Do you hear me, Captain Stacy?”</p><p>The Captain just screamed pathetically at him, uselessly trying to pull his legs out of the spot where he stood.</p><p>“I’ll take that as a yes.” In truth, despite his glibness he was a bit dissatisfied. There was no good way to make <em> sure </em> the NYPD didn’t try to clear this place again. Even if he killed all these cops (And regardless of how he’ d felt while avenging Uncle Ben, mass murder was <em> not </em>something he wanted in his job description) it wouldn’t stop more from coming to clear this place out. All he could do was protect them while he was here, and be an inspiration.</p><p>He retrieved his camera (surreptitiously, of course, so that nobody noticed Spider-Man’s pictures in the Bugle the next day were all shameless selfies) and continued on his merry way to the Baxter Building.</p><p>When he got there, he was astonished at what he saw; a <em> zeppelin </em> . A freaking <em> zeppelin </em> , here, in New York? Whaaat? And it was moored to the roof of the Baxter Building! First off, he was pretty sure that buildings constructed in the 1970s didn’t <em> have </em> zeppelin moorings. Secondly, he was 95% sure that the zeppelin was flying <em> way </em>too low, for air traffic regulations. Finally, it had a giant flag emblazoned on its side that he didn’t recognize. That one wasn’t really a weird thing so much as...well, it was just weird. The flag was. It was a solid green banner, except for a grey bit that was in the shape of a very stylized-looking face.</p><p>Was it abstract? He didn’t get it. Either way, it had to be bad news. He swung his way over to the Baxter Building, and scaled the walls as quickly as he could. He scrambled on top of the mooring, and clambered his way up the cable connecting the zeppelin to the roof. With his sticky feet and superhuman agility, it was remarkably easy to maintain his footing.</p><p>“If I ever quit the superhero business,” Spider-Man muttered, “I’d have a great future as a tightrope walker!”</p><p>(Why was he quipping to himself? There was nobody here!)</p><p>Once he made his way to the zeppelin proper, he crawled around on the underside until he found the cabin (not hard to spot, of course) and crawled into an open window.</p><p>“Well that was surprisingly easy,” he said, once again out loud, “I sort of expected a trap!”</p><p>At once, a booming voice spoke to him from the other end of the room. “And how do you know there isn’t one?!”</p><p>Spidey turned to look, and saw someone he could’ve sworn he saw before. He was armoured in old-school, medieval-style plating that was covered in little rivets. Over top it, he had a green cloak with a hood raised. The only bits of the man’s actual body that Spider-Man could see were his cold, blue-grey eyes, glaring at him through the eyeholes of his steel mask.</p><p>“Spider-Man! I’ve heard much about you!” The metal man strode towards him, standing about ten feet away and folding his arms.</p><p>“Well, you know, my reputation proceeds me and all that,” he rubbed the back of his head, feeling awkward, “Who are you, again?”</p><p>The metal man narrowed his eyes. “You do not know?”</p><p>Spider-Man shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t. You one of the people the Fantastic Four tussle with a lot?”</p><p>“You might say that,” the man in the iron mask muttered, “For I am Doctor Viktor von Doom! King of Latveria, Master of Science and Sorcery! Enemy to all Fascism!”</p><p>“Well that <em> last </em> one sounds pretty good,” Spider-Man had to admit, “But the rest, uh...is Viktor von Doom your <em> real </em> name?”</p><p>Doctor Doom nodded. “Yes! It was my name from birth. Too often people have questioned Doom’s legitimacy, but Doom is Doom! Son of Doom! Heir to the Throne of Doom!”</p><p>“That’s a lot of Doom,” Spider-Man said earnestly, at a loss for quips, “So uh...what’re you doing here, Mr. King-Doctor Doom?”</p><p>“<em> Doctor </em> Doom will suffice,” the metal man noted, “And I am here to destroy the home of the Fantastic Four! Reed Richards has acted against me far too many times! It is time for retribution!”</p><p>“Ohhhhh,” Spider-Man shot back, folding his arms, “I see how it is. You’re too afraid to confront Reed Richards personally, so you wait until the <em> Mole Man </em>comes along to keep him busy!”</p><p>Doctor Doom snarled at him. “Do not taunt Doom, Spider-Man! Or it shall be your undoing!”</p><p>“Don’t you mean “It shall be your Doom”? You’ve gotta stay on brand here!”</p><p>That seemed to be the final straw, for Mr. Doctor King Viktor von Doom. He raised up his hands, and little devices popped out of his fingertips. A storm of lightning shot from them in Spidey’s direction, which he was able to evade with a vault over the well-furnished middle of the cabin. (This guy had a lot of nice couches for someone who seemed to be flying solo).</p><p>Before the Doctor could do anything else, Spidey decided to act. That armour looked tough, but armour always had <em> chinks </em>. Besides, there were simple ways to avoid hurting himself on it! He caught one of the plush chairs laying about the cabin, and, with a mighty tug, hurled it at the back of Doctor Doom’s head-</p><p>-and was astonished when it knocked his head clean off! There was no blood, or screaming; the head simply popped off and careened across the room, hitting the opposite wall so hard the mask shattered...as did the head.</p><p>For as Spider-Man could <em> now </em>see, that hadn’t been a human being at all; it was some kind of robot, that he had just broken. The head was laying there in little tiny pieces of metal and circuitry, small dabs of fluid seeping into the nice carpet below.</p><p>Spider-Man examined the body, which was still standing upright. It was stock still, frozen in the posture it had been when he had knocked its head off. Gingerly, he stepped on over. While he was no roboticist, he felt like maybe he should examine it, or something.</p><p>When he did, he saw a ring of brownish-red rust lining the interior of the helmet, and a broken hydraulic cable that didn’t look like <em> he’d </em>cut it. It seemed to him more like it had been dissolved over time by something.</p><p>Just as he was debating whether to keep examining the thing or go, a voice came in over the ship’s speakers.</p><p>“Greetings, Spider-Man,” a voice boomed over the sound system, the same voice as that the robot had spoken in, “I see you have dispatched my malfunctioning Doombot. Well done.”</p><p>Spidey cocked his head. “Hang on, hang on. First off, you have a robot that looks and sounds just like you called a Doombot?”</p><p>“Yes,” the voice replied, much more calmly than Spider-Man had expected, “It’s a nice, simple, catchy name. I like simple and catchy. It’s good for keeping things <em> on-brand </em>, you know?”</p><p>“Secondly,” the voice, which Spider-Man now presumed to belong to the real Doctor Doom, continued, “I would ask you to leave the aircraft, now. Certain...<em> individuals </em> from the Latverian embassy will be arriving shortly, to repair it and to transport it back to Latveria. While I will not begrudge you performing your civic duty in dealing with this menacing rogue automaton, I would prefer you <em> not </em>overstay your welcome.”</p><p>“You expect me to believe that this thing was <em> really </em> acting against your orders?”</p><p>Doom’s voice sounded almost <em> hurt </em> when he spoke again. “Why, yes. The machine was designed merely to be a decoy, for assassins. But, to my horror, it stole a zeppelin and made to cross the Atlantic, presumably thinking itself to <em> be </em>me. The AI in it was regrettably simplistic, and seemed to misunderstand exactly what my feelings about Dr. Richards are.”</p><p>Spider-Man scoffed at that paper-thin lie, but he didn’t really have any other choice but to go along with the tin-plated tyrant’s demands. “Fine, fine. By the way, you shouldn’t keep using that fluid you were putting in that thing for hydraulics. It’s too acidic, ate right through the tubing and, by the looks of things, rusted out the neck area. Probably how I took the thing’s head off so easily.”</p><p>To his surprise, the voice replied immediately. “Really now? Thank you, Spider-Man. I owe you for this service.” There wasn’t a hint of dishonesty or gloating in the voice, which just made Spider-Man even more unnerved.</p><p>He decided now was the <em> perfect </em>time to get out of this crazy airship; he leapt out of the side window and swung himself down the needle atop the Baxter Building onto its roof</p><p>There had to be something <em> else </em>he could get up to, surely. Today had been his most productive day as Spider-Man yet! How could he top defeating a crazed mad scientist King’s robot duplicate?</p><p>His cell phone buzzed in its pouch. Spidey reached in and pulled it out, making sure to raise his mask a bit so his voice wouldn’t be muffled.</p><p>“Hey,” a familiar voice said over the phone, “This is Betty Brant. Peter Parker, right? Robbie didn’t accidentally give me Ben Ulrich’s number?”</p><p>“Yep! This is the one and only Peter Parker, as far as I know. What can I do for you?”</p><p>“Well, I remember you mentioning offhandedly that you were in Midtown High, right?”</p><p>Peter wracked his brain; he couldn’t <em> really </em>remember giving her that much information, but then there was a lot that he’d probably thought about their chat yesterday. “Yeah, why?”</p><p>“According to the news, you’ve got today off, and my college classes are off for the day. I was wondering if you wanted to go out for coffee.”</p><p>His heart skipped a beat. A girl, a girl he <em> liked </em>at that, was asking him on a date. “Absolutely! Where did you want to meet?”</p><p>“There’s a place I like,” she said, pausing as she leafed through something, “At 450 Baxter Boulevard. It’s just a bit of the way south of the Baxter Building. It’s called <em> Bennett’s </em> , it’s a nice little cafe, <em> actually </em>locally-owned, not one of those shitty hipster joints.”</p><p>“That sounds really nice, yeah. I’m actually not too far from there, I should be able to hoof it and get there in...about fifteen minutes?”</p><p>Betty let out a surprised murmur. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in fifteen minutes, then.”</p><p>Peter put his phone back in its designated pocket, and did a fist pump and hooted for joy. Wow was today going <em> great </em>or what.</p><p>He cringed. That was what he’d been feeling after walking away from that wrestling match with Crusher Hogan. Within minutes, he’d see Uncle Ben die before his eyes.</p><p>His happy mood <em> appropriately </em>dimmed, Spider-Man clambered down the Baxter Building and eventually found the little coffee shop Betty was talking about. Brick facade, surrounded by high-rises on both sides, very old-fashioned signage...oh yeah, this was the real deal.</p><p>After finding a nice private spot for a quick change, Peter swapped back into his civvies, and made his way to the front door of <em> Bennett’s </em> . When he stepped inside, he was greeted by a handsome little joint with a menu full of hot drinks; tea, coffee, and hot cocoa. He was surprised by how warm he felt, once he stepped inside, and realized how much the adrenaline of spider-manning his way around town had been numbing him to the cold. It was a <em> really </em>good thing he’d worn those thermals, or else he might’ve accidentally given himself a case of frostbite in his enthusiasm.</p><p>Sitting at the table furthest from the entrance and across from a little TV playing CNN, was Betty Brant. She looked <em> fantastic </em>, as she had when he first saw her the previous day; a smart black blouse, black jeans, and high-heeled boots that looked to be made of real leather. Her makeup was on point, if lighter (or at least, lighter-seeming) than yesterday. In front of her she had a steaming cup of coffee, and a little notepad she was writing in.</p><p>When Peter walked in, she looked up and waved, beckoning for him to come over.</p><p>He took the seat opposite her. “So, how’d you find this little joint?”</p><p>“Comes with spending so much time at the Baxter Building,” she replied, finishing off whatever she was writing before closing her notebook, “There’s no way for me to get coffee at any of the shops in the <em> actual </em>building, so I have to scour nearby. One particularly desperate day I found myself out here, and made note of it for later.”</p><p>Peter stroked his chin. “You’d think Jameson could at least afford a coffee machine.”</p><p>Betty laughed, and oh God she did this cute little snort when she laughed. “No, Jameson can’t rub two nickels together. The Bugle used to be a popular local paper, before Giuliani came along and ‘cleaned up’ this town,” she said the words with biting sarcasm and a hint of real bitterness, “Now suddenly there’s nobody nearby who’s interested in buying a socialist rag talking about how gentrification is an inherently racist phenomenon, or how intersectional feminism actually has <em> way </em>more precedent than trans-exclusive radfems...”</p><p>Peter was surprised. “He actually talks about that stuff? I figured he was one of those class-warfare-only guys. Seems old and...well, <em> white </em>enough.”</p><p>Betty nodded. “Oh yeah, he was. But Robbie’s got his ear to the ground, and he’s keen on making sure we keep up with the times. And,” she said, with a hint of a smile, “Not to be immodest, but I have my own part to play in making sure more of a feminist perspective gets in.”</p><p>He grinned. “I kind of got that impression when I talked to him, yesterday.”</p><p>“Yeah, he’s an easy one to read, Jonah. It’s amazing how nothing seems to dull his edge, though. I haven’t known him that long, but apparently the Bugle? It used to have a whole floor to itself, in the fucking <em>Flatiron Building.”</em></p><p>Peter whistled. “Wow, really?”</p><p>Betty nodded. “Jameson had a perfect view of the Empire State Building from his office. Then...well then there was the aforementioned <em> demographic change </em>, and then the recession...well, let’s just say that he’s basically coasting by on Reed Richards’s charity, at this point.”</p><p>Peter wanted to say a few things there, about how maybe he could change Reed’s mind. He knew that would just raise too many questions, though, so he settled for something smaller. “Doesn’t seem like Richards to be so dismissive.”</p><p>“Guy’s got a lot on his plate,” Betty replied with a shrug, “He’s overextended, honestly. Stretched too...uh, thin. No pun intended.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes when Peter chuckled at that, then continued. “The Future Foundation’s got more enemies than friends. Did you see that freaking Latverian zeppelin flying away? Apparently Viktor von Doom was trying to blow it up, or something.”</p><p>Peter nodded, trying to hide his mild amusement. “Yeah, yeah. I saw Spider-Man getting away from the scene, so I’m <em> guessing </em>he had something to do with it...”</p><p>“Spider-Man,” Betty repeated, enigmatically, “You know, it’s a weird stroke of luck. You being so good at getting pictures of him and all that. Might turn the Bugle’s fortunes around, if we’re the ones running the big exposes on the guy.”</p><p>Honesty, at least a <em> kind </em>of honesty, had to be the best policy here. “Couldn’t agree more. It’s a good chance for him, too, if I’m honest.”</p><p>She quirked her head. “Why do you think?”</p><p>“Well, basically, because the Bugle’s easy to negotiate with. He doesn’t have to worry about the story getting twisted and chopped down by some big-shot editor. Heck, he could even come in person, probably.”</p><p>Betty considered that. “I’ve certainly seen stranger things, lately. What’s your deal with him, anyway?”</p><p>“Our deal?” Peter asked, trying not to seem like he was playing dumb. It could only get him so far, and he realized he’d have to think of <em> some </em>explanation for why all the best pictures came from him. Otherwise people would probably fill in the blanks themselves, and he could say sayonara to his secret identity.</p><p>She leveled a steady gaze at him, those beautiful brown eyes impenetrably deep. “Yeah, why you’re the one taking his pictures all of a sudden. Nobody else got anything more than a blurry cell phone pic of him during the fight with that big monster. How did you get so many perfect shots? The only way the Fantastic Four get photographed like that mid-action is when they’ve got a camera drone nearby.”</p><p>“Oh, right,” Peter took a deep breath, preparing to bullshit like he’d<em> never </em> bullshitted before, “Well, basically? He came to me in the middle of the night once, and-”</p><p>Betty gently laid a hand on his, as if to shush him. Peter resisted the urge to grasp her hand, and just looked at her, trying to look puzzled instead of like a deer caught in her headlights.</p><p>Without saying a word, she tore off a piece of paper and pushed it towards him, along with a pencil. On it, she’d written the following words.</p><p><em> Are you Spider-Man? </em> <em> Y/N </em></p><p>Peter’s face flushed, and he got the feeling that whatever his answer, Betty would know. That made the choice easier, though it didn’t make it <em> easy </em>. With a shaky hand, he took the pencil and circled the “Y”, before pushing it back to her.</p><p>Betty looked at it, smiled, and put it back in her purse. She let out a breath, and Peter realized she looked as nervous as he felt.</p><p>“You have no goddamned idea,” she began, steadying herself, “How hard it was to ask you that.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” He replied, forcing a cocky grin as he tried to relax his shaking hands, “Well how hard do you think it was to <em> answer </em> it!?”</p><p>Reflexively, he looked around at the other occupants of the cafe. Betty and him were both maintaining normal conversation volume, and nobody was looking at them. There weren’t many people there, anyway. Just the cashier (Peter noted he should’ve <em>really</em> ordered something to drink by now) and an elderly couple seated at the opposite end of the cafe from them.</p><p>“I get you. I mean it, I really do. I mean, I <em> can’t </em> get it, because <em> oh my God </em> I’m barely able to focus right now. I know I can’t...what this is...just, <em> wow </em> .” Her usual cool had melted away, and a giddy smile was on her face now. She looked so freaking <em> cute </em>, which was an impressive thing in the middle of reacting to shock like she was now.</p><p>Peter took her hand again. “It’s a lot, yeah.”</p><p>This time, she gripped his hand in response. “You seem like...a really good guy, Parker. Do you mind that I call you Parker, by the way? It’s my way with people I like, to stick to last names.”</p><p>He nodded. “Yeah, I like it. It’s...it’s kinda Lois Lane-y, you know?”</p><p>She giggled. “So if I’m Lois Lane...what does that make you?”</p><p>Peter blushed, and looked away for a moment. “Shouldn’t have said that...”</p><p>“No, I think it’s a good comparison. I mean you’re really buff, but you do have a kind of Clark Kent-esque nebbishness, you know?”</p><p>“Nebbishness?” He asked, defensively. “I’m not nebbish!”</p><p>“You’re not <em> that </em>nebbish, no,” she grinned, “Just nebbish enough for it to be cute.”</p><p>He sighed contentedly, despite the way his heart was still pounding. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”</p><p>“Yeah, I do. Thanks, though.”</p><p>She took a long sip from her coffee. “So...why’d you do it?”</p><p>Peter cocked his head. “Why’d I become...you know who?”</p><p>She nodded. “Yeah, that.”</p><p>He sighed, and rubbed the back of his head. “It’s a long story. Can I get my cup of coffee, first?”</p><p>Betty laughed, almost slapping her forehead while she did so. “Wow, you didn’t even get a chance for your coffee, and I already popped <em> that </em>question,” she calmed down, and took another sip of her coffee, “Better slow down or else I’ll be hiring a wedding photographer by next week.”</p><p>Peter did his best to ignore <em>that</em> comment (And the way it made his stomach fill with many excitable little butterflies), and got up to order his coffee. When he was back, he explained to Betty the details of how he’d gotten bitten, been sick for a few weeks, then developed weird powers a few months after the bite. He then went on to explain the way he’d initially intended to be a wrestler or something else he could profit off of his powers with, until the death of his uncle.</p><p>All of her previous mirth and mania were gone, replaced with a sympathetic melancholia. “Well, shit. Yeah, I guess...that’d do it.”</p><p>She paused for a bit, and examined her coffee. Without looking up, she continued. “Sounds like you were kind of an asshole before, huh Parker?”</p><p>“Yep,” he said flatly, “I was. Still kinda am, some of the time. I’m trying to work on that.”</p><p>Her big, brown eyes drifted up to him. “If you’d said ‘I’m not an asshole anymore’, I would’ve gotten up and left here and now.”</p><p>Peter sighed. “Yeah, then headed off to tell the Times about my secret identity, probably….”</p><p>For the first time since he’d met her, Betty seemed offended. “Excuse me? No fucking way would I do that. It’s your business if you want people to know who you are, and I’m not outing you...wow, ‘outing’ you, yeah. Huh.”</p><p>He had to laugh at that. “If it helps, I <em> am </em>bi, so you can out me properly, too.”</p><p>She studied him, new interest in her eyes. “Well that’s <em> another </em>thing we have in common, I guess...”</p><p>Before he could say anything in reply, she continued. “Anyway, no. I’m not going to do anything about your secret identity over something petty, or over something you do to <em> me </em> . I’d only do it if people’s lives were at stake. Not going to lie, was <em> pretty shitty </em> of you to imply I’d do that, Parker.”</p><p>He raised his hands, defensively. “Wasn’t meant as a comment on your character. Just the ol’ Parker luck.”</p><p>“Oh? It’s hereditary?”</p><p>“Well, my great-grandparents came in on the <em> Titanic </em>,” he grinned, “After barely surviving a mini-pogrom and the potato famine, so you tell me.”</p><p>Betty whistled, impressed. “Jesus, you weren’t kidding...”</p><p>“I know, right? Hasn’t really stopped since then, even for me. Well until I got this bite...but then it’s kind of <em> sucked </em>in its own way.”</p><p>“Yeah, sounds like it. Suddenly you’ve got <em> half </em>the free time you’d had before, you’re constantly risking your life, and you’ve got to make sure people don’t find out.”</p><p>“You really get it, huh?” he said, appreciatively, “Most people, when they talk about...well, about <em> me, </em>they seem to think I do this for kicks. You know, like that song. The one with the fake 60s cartoon about me, on the internet.”</p><p>“The weirdo one in that retro cartoon style? By that Harry Porridge guy, or whatever his name was? I thought he was like, making <em> fun </em>of people who thought that.”</p><p>“Yeah. I know he’s satirical but like, it’s the <em> sentiment </em>. ‘Wealth and fame, he’s ignored/Action is, his reward.’”</p><p>“Ah, yeah, that. I mean I didn’t buy that for a minute even <em> before </em> I met you. If <em> you </em> had been a thrill seeker, you wouldn’t be spending so much time on boring shit like saving kittens from trees. And that’s <em> most </em>of what you do, right?”</p><p>He chuckled. “I mean if you looked at today it wouldn’t seem like that.”</p><p>Betty raised an eyebrow, her curiosity plainly piqued. “Oh? So besides dealing with the steel dictator, you got up to something else today?”</p><p>Peter rubbed the back of his head. “Well, let’s just say there was this homeless camp, and some cops and….I don’t think they’re going to be getting their cars back anytime soon.”</p><p>To his amazement, Betty <em> burst out laughing </em>, so loudly that the few other people in the cafe all turned and stared. She laughed long and hard enough that she started crying, smudging her makeup a bit with her tears as she wiped it off.</p><p>“Jesus, Parker,” she began, still laughing, “You don’t fuck around, do you?”</p><p>He shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “Yeah, well...you know how it is.”</p><p>“I mean, I definitely <em> don’t </em>,” she replied, as dryly as she could while still giggling just a bit, “But I think I get you, all the same.”</p><p>As she steadied herself, she looked at him seriously. “How...how does it feel? When you’re out there, saving lives?”</p><p>He felt compelled to speak from the heart a bit. “It’s...nice, to be able to help people. To be able to <em> save </em> people. To be able to make sure that <em> today </em> , at least, they don’t have to suffer. That they can just keep living their lives. That they won’t be hurt, won’t be terrorized. That kids can have childhoods without being traumatized, that old folks can spend their twilight years in peace. It just feels so <em> good </em>.”</p><p>“It’s not about some big ideal, some abstract idea of justice. I’m not even sure it’s <em> exactly </em>what my uncle would’ve wanted. It’s just...about making a difference.”</p><p>They were both silent, for a long moment. Eventually, Betty leaned towards him, over the table. For a moment, he thought she was going to kiss him, and he was in no mood to say no to that. Then, something caught her eye and she pulled back.</p><p>“Look at the TV.” She said, sounding quietly horrified.</p><p>Peter turned around, and saw a disturbing sight, almost familiar, but not quite. A skyscraper, it’s second-highest floor engulfed in flames. The banner across the bottom of the screen explained it all.</p><p><em> FIRE AT O </em> <em> Z </em> <em> TOWER </em> <em> . NORMA OSBORN AND SON TRAPPED ON TOP FLOOR. </em> <em> FIREFIGHTERS DELAYED BY </em> <em> LACK OF PROPER EQUIPMENT. </em> <em> UNKNOWN IF ANY OTHERS TRAPPED ON TOP FLOOR WITH THEM. </em></p><p>“I have to go,” he began, getting up, “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t be,” Betty said, catching his hand before he ran off, “It’s who you are. It’s why I...why I want to see you again, okay?”</p><p>He winked, projecting a confidence he didn’t <em> quite </em>feel. “I’ll be back. And we’ll have coffee again sometime, okay?”</p><p>She nodded, and then leaned in to quickly kiss his cheek. “Good luck, Parker.”</p><p>He rubbed the cheek, dumbstruck for a moment. Before he embarrassed himself and also lost any more time, he turned back around and started running like Hell.</p><p>Before long, he was back in his Spider-suit, and swinging his way towards Oz Tower. The high rise apartment was privately owned by Norma Osborn, the sole owner of OsCorp, one of the largest<em> everything</em> companies in America. Involved in everything from weapons manufacturing, to pharmaceuticals, to media production, OsCorp was a name that tended to pop up once a day for most New Yorkers. Norma Osborn herself was a bit of a recluse, and carried a more sober public profile than most billionaires of her status, especially considering she was the single richest woman in the entire world. Strictly speaking, the building was called “Osborn Tower Condominiums”, but Oz Tower had been the much more popular shorthand since it had been built a decade ago, rather tastelessly, where Ground Zero had once been.</p><p>Spider-Man didn’t <em> usually </em> deign to rescue mere <em> billionaires </em>, but once in a while even he felt the need to be generous to the fat cats of the world. Besides, it would be decent-ish PR with the liberals, who tended to view anyone as a radical who as much as said an unkind word about the police. And of course, he didn’t know who else was there at the time.</p><p>In short, it didn’t matter that he didn’t like who he was saving. What mattered was there were people who needed saving, and only he could do it.</p><p>He made his way to the Oz Tower in record time, and surveyed the scene. Frustrated firefighters trying to reach the top floor in vain with their hoses, helicopters scanning it up close. In theory, he supposed one could try landing on its roof...unfortunately, Osborn had opted to make the roof a bit too <em> angular </em> for any helipads to fit. She was about to be done in by her own sense of aesthetics. They could, of course, try to get up close and hop over, but since he had stopped inside for his little coffee date with Betty, the wind had <em> really </em> picked up. It was so strong he was almost struggling to keep his grip on the wall, but of course his power of being very sticky held firm. Real spiders had <em> nothing </em> on Spider- <em> man </em>.</p><p>Spidey briefly considered heading down to talk to the gathered rescue personnel below...but, given the sheer volume of cops alongside them (Seriously, what were they <em> doing </em> there? Planning to shoot the fire out?), he decided against it. There were audible gasps from the crowd, even at his height, when he grabbed the side of the building and started clambering. He cursed, when he saw a good angle to web a camera to; a shot like that would invite <em> far </em>too many questions about how he could’ve possibly taken it.</p><p>He settled for just saving people’s lives, instead. It was a decent consolation prize. As he neared the smoke-filled burning floor, he webbed at a decorative gargoyle above it, and hoped it would support his weight. To his lack of surprise, it did, and he hoisted himself upwards, coughing as he passed through the cloud of smoke, and recoiling from the intense heat.</p><p>Once he was past that floor, he swung upwards and broke in through the window. When he got in, he saw that smoke was rising up a nearby stairwell. That was <em> not </em>a good sign, for how much time he had left. He’d have to act fast.</p><p>He shouted out. “Norma Osborn! Anyone! Yell, so I can find you! It’s Spider-Man! I’m going to get you down from here!”</p><p>Eventually, he heard a voice call out. It sounded like a guy, maybe his age? He ran in its direction, and found it was behind a door. With a superhuman kick, he knocked it down.</p><p>He was greeted with the sight of a plush living room, decorated with a fancy-looking leather couch, a TV bigger than Aunt May’s garage door, a beautifully wide balcony with what was probably <em> normally </em> a gorgeous panorama of the New York Skyline, blocked currently by the rising smoke from the floor below. Most interesting of all was the barrel of a shotgun, pointed at him by a <em> very </em>angry-looking Norma Osborn.</p><p>Osborn was a handsome woman, Spidey supposed, a bit masculine in her fashion. Sharp, angular features, slicked-back red hair, green eyes that seemed to blaze as she stared down at the superhero. She was tall, taller even than Spider-Man, probably around six feet. She was dressed in a purple smoking jacket, a pair of black trousers, and had a pair of loafers on. Evidently, whatever had happened had interrupted her cigar break.</p><p>“Get out of my home. <em> Now </em>.” She growled the words out, through gritted teeth.</p><p>Spider-Man was <em> flabbergasted </em>, a word he didn’t get to use often enough if he said so himself.</p><p>“Here I am,” he began, barely believing he had to say it, “Trying to <em> save </em> you, Osborn, and you’re going to kill me? <em> Why </em>?”</p><p>“Because I didn’t give you <em> permission, </em> you arrogant little upstart. I don’t <em> need </em> your help, and I don’t <em> trust </em>that you can get me down safely. So shut up, and leave us. The fire department will get us out.”</p><p>There was a logic to it all, he had to admit to that. A crude, shambling, mockery of logic, but a logic nonetheless.</p><p>“The fire department doesn’t have a big enough ladder,” Spidey began, “And they’re struggling to get anyone up the stairs fast enough, since the elevator <em> happens </em> to be <em> unavailable </em> . Oh, and the wind? Stopping any helicopters. I’m your best bet...sort of your <em> only </em>bet, actually.”</p><p>Norma scowled. “Just <em> get out </em>of here already.”</p><p>It was then that Spider-Man noticed, belatedly, that Norma <em> wasn’t </em> the only person in the room with him. Sitting there in the corner, next to a potted plant that looked <em> exotic </em>, was a young man. He had black hair, and dark brown eyes, and his general features seemed distinctly East Asian, to Peter. Well, that and perhaps a bit of something else. The guy looked mixed, basically.</p><p>“Who are you?” Peter asked the young man, quietly. It felt odd, talking to someone who looked to be his own age or older like they were younger than him.</p><p>“Harry,” the boy said, staring at him in genuine awe, “Harry Osborn. I’m kind of a fan. That’s my mom, pointing the gun at you.”</p><p>“Well, Harry,” Spider-Man began, smiling to himself beneath the mask, “Always nice to meet a fan. Even under difficult circumstances.”</p><p>Snarling under her breath, Norma jammed the barrel of the gun into Spidey’s chest, hard enough that he <em> almost </em> felt it, too. “ Just get <em> out </em>of here, already!”</p><p>It was in that moment he could see it in her eyes. She was <em> terrified. </em>Terrified, probably, of no longer being in control of the situation. Here she was, with all her money and power, and she was as trapped as anyone else. He’d feel pity for her, if she wasn’t so rich she probably spent more money on fancy toilet paper than most people he knew would ever make in a lifetime.</p><p>Sensing that she wasn’t going to calm down, no matter what he did, Spider-Man did the only thing he <em> could </em> do. Moving faster than normal Human reflexes, he grabbed the gun out of Norma’s hands and snapped it over his knee. He then webbed her mouth shut, and then further webbed her up in a little cocoon.</p><p>She struggled and screamed beneath her little gag, and Spidey held off on making a quip, sense he could see Harry’s horrified reaction.</p><p>“Sorry about that,” he said, dusting off his hands, “But one of my lesser-known weaknesses is shotgun shells. You spooked me a bit, with that.”</p><p>Harry looked at him, still in awe, but wary now as well. He stood up, and gingerly approached Spider-Man. “How are you going to get us down from here, anyway? It’s like, a 400 meter drop.”</p><p>“Yeah uh...hadn’t thought that far ahead, before getting up here.” He stroked his masked chin, before looking at his wrists. The idea was pretty simple, if...terrifyingly ridiculous.</p><p>“Alright. I got it. I’m going to open a window, and I’m going to web you two to my back. Then I’m going to run on down the building.”</p><p>Harry visibly swallowed. “Is your webbing strong enough? Can you like, stick to the wall when you run down?”</p><p>Spidey nodded. “Oh yeah, definitely. To the first one, anyway. As for the second one...well, I’ve got a couple reliable ways of catching us, if we fall. Don’t you worry, I won’t let you or your mom die.”</p><p>The young man nodded, then, looking at his mother, seemed to steel himself for something. After closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he opened them again and looked right at Spidey.</p><p>“She started it. My mom. She was trying to catch some lady who had broken into our house.”</p><p>Norma Osborn began <em> screaming </em> like a wounded animal in her little cocoon, <em> probably </em>angry at her son for going off script.</p><p>“Ok,” Spidey said, nodding and taking it all stoically, “That’s none of my business, how it got started, right now I just want to get everyone out.”</p><p>“That’s just it,” Harry continued, looking in terror at his mother, who was rolling around and trying in vain to knock Spidey over as she did so, “The woman? She’s still trapped down there.”</p><p><em> Now </em> Spidey was panicking, a little. He could, in theory, take the Osborns down and come back up. However, given how much time it’d take to get down there, anyone still alive on the floor below would probably be <em> really </em>dead by the time he got back up here. That was assuming this top floor didn’t get consumed by the flames itself.</p><p>He sighed. “Okay. Then I’m going to go down a floor, I’m going to look for this lady, and then I’m going to come back up and get all three of you safely down to the ground. You understand me?”</p><p>Harry nodded, then looked down at his webbed-up mom. “I’ll...stay here, with my mom. In case anything goes wrong, I...”</p><p>The guy trailed off, and rubbed the back of his head. He was terrified, too, like his mother. He was just better at hiding it.</p><p>Spider-Man placed a comforting hand on the other boy’s shoulder. “Hey. It’ll be okay. I promise you, I’ll get you all out of here. Okay?”</p><p>Harry looked back at him shyly, and blushed.</p><p>Spider-Man knew what <em> that </em>look meant, and smiled to himself. Without another word, he spun around and headed for the stairwell.</p><p>Smoke billowed out of it, and flames were licking the bottom stair. This was <em> not </em> going to be fun. He swallowed his terror, and charged down the stairs. The heat got more and more intense as he went, and he could see flames all over the carpet. He had to leap through the smoke-filled air to make his way into the main area of this floor. It wasn’t clear to him what it <em> had </em>been, but going by all the glass display cases filled with presumably expensive items, it looked to him like some kind of trophy room of Osborn’s. Half of them were being consumed by the rising flames all around, and he suspected that behind the rows of closed doors were more priceless things being swallowed up.</p><p>“Is anyone here! Shout, shout if you can hear me! Let me know where you are!” He was amazed at how he could still breathe in this intense smoke. Maybe it was part of his enhanced physique, but if that was the case he was getting increasingly confused how he’d gotten all this from a <em> spider </em> . Maybe his whole 'proportionate strength' theory had been incorrect after all...</p><p>A voice, pained and distinctly female, called back to him. “Yes! Yes! I’m here! Help me!”</p><p>It seemed to come from the other end of the long hall, and Spider-Man cursed to himself as he narrowly dodged the flames. The heat only grew intense as he got closer, and he suspected that whatever had gone wrong here had happened where this woman was trapped.</p><p>He rounded the corner to his right, noting that was where the voice had come from. As he ran down the hallway, he saw something that confused the <em> Hell </em>out of him.</p><p>It was a woman, like he had thought, but...well the <em> woman </em> was weird. She was dressed in this sexy black leather (or latex, maybe spandex) getup, with a gap going from neck to navel that seemed to exist solely to demonstrate her ample cleavage and lack of a bra. The tight outfit was lined with white fur, and that fur matched this woman’s <em> hair </em>. Maybe it was dyed?</p><p>She was also wearing a black domino mask, and that was just <em> ridiculous </em> . He really hoped that Norma Osborn had just hired some gorgeous sex worker to engage in some wholesome sapphic BDSM, and then decided to kill her, because any other explanation was just too ludicrous to make sense of <em> this </em>.</p><p>Oh, and all around her was a ring of fire, that mysteriously stopped just a few feet away from her. The woman was bleeding, too, something he hadn’t noticed at first. There was a small puncture wound on her right side, from which her vital essence was seeping.</p><p>“Help...” she called out to him, sounding increasingly weak. Her eyes stared at him, pleading.</p><p>“Alright, alright.” he called back, getting over his confusion and remembering he had a life to save here. With a bit more delicate footwork (and no shortage of wall-crawling to circumvent the burning carpet), Spidey reached the woman’s side.</p><p>When he tried to reach under her, though, she stopped him with a press of her hand.</p><p>She looked at him, and for the first time he saw her eyes were a vivid and utterly impossible shade of violet. “No, wait. Not like that. I need...I need my collar.”</p><p>“What.” That was it, he was out of words. He officially had <em> no </em>idea what was going on, anymore.</p><p>“Just <em> get it, </em>” she growled, gritting her teeth in pain as she clutched her side, “And the idol, if you can get it.”</p><p>Spidey sighed. “Okay, okay, fine. Where are they?”</p><p>The woman in the fetish gear pointed to her right, and Spidey saw that sitting on the little wooden table was a stone idol that looked <em> vaguely </em>East African, and a little black leather collar with a silver pentagram on it.</p><p>At this point, he was too nonplussed by <em> everything </em>to be nonplussed at the surprising ease of the girl’s request, and he just shot his webs at the things and yanked them over. Idol and collar in hand, he knelt back down to the woman’s side.</p><p>“Put...put the collar on me, please.” Her voice was so hoarse and faint at this point he could barely hear her over the crackling flames.</p><p>“Alright, alright, fine. No idea how this is going to help, but-” As he finished tying the little thing around the woman’s neck, he was interrupted by the sight of something weird.</p><p>Even by <em> his </em>standards.</p><p>The little star began glowing purple, and a wave of energy seemed to cascade over the woman’s body. The spot where she’d been wounded <em> glowed </em> with intense, purple-white light, until he saw that the wound and the hole in her suit were both mended.</p><p>At once, the girl was rejuvenated. She stood up, and stretched in a <em> remarkably </em>catlike fashion, before grinning madly at Spider-Man.</p><p>“I’ll take that, thank you,” she said, motioning towards the little stone idol, “I went through a <em> lot </em>of trouble to get that, and I feel like I’m owed it by now.”</p><p>Spidey narrowed his eyes. “Are you <em> sure </em> about that?”</p><p>She rolled her eyes, theatrically. “The building is on <em> fire </em> , Spider-Man. Yes, I have heard of you, and I’m <em> very </em> impressed to meet you in the flesh. All the same? I want my toy, now. I’ll thank you <em> later </em>.”</p><p>He sighed, and just handed the damned thing over. At once, it vanished into a wisp of purple smoke.</p><p>“Ah,” she said, sounding content, “Anytime now, a certain felicitous feline will be finding a fine fortune waiting for her at home.”</p><p>Spider-Man was way, way too done for this to ask what the Hell had just happened. “Right. So...did you want to escape this burning building, or…?”</p><p>“Oh, this? No, I’m good. You though...best of luck. I know <em> you </em>can get out, of course, but I mean...best of luck getting the ginger goblin herself and her baby boy out of here, you know?”</p><p>She waggled her fingers at him before blowing a kiss, and then vanished into purple smoke.</p><p>Spidey really, really missed when he got to do simple things, like fight robots sent by evil foreign dictators in zeppelins to blow up their superpowered rivals’ skyscraper base. Without wasting any more time in this burning hell hole, Spider-Man charged back around the corner, down the hallway, and up the stairs.</p><p>When he got back to the living room, he saw that Harry was bent over his mother. The young man turned and looked at Spidey, concerned and confused.</p><p>“Was she…?” He trailed off, <em> clearly </em>too afraid to say ‘dead’.</p><p>Spidey shook his head. “No, more like...injured. And then not injured, and then she telported out of here.”</p><p>He shrugged. “I don’t get it any more than you do. Ready to get out of here?”</p><p>Harry looked befuddled for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, yeah. You were going to web us up, right? Did you have a particular way you were going to do that?”</p><p>Spider-Man smiled beneath his mask. “Well, yes, actually...hang on for <em> just </em>a bit.”</p><p>He bent down, and propped Norma Osborn up on her feet. Then, directing the other young man with his hands, he positioned him next to his mum. Without giving the boy <em> too </em>much warning, he webbed Harry to his mom, then created a thick webline going from the shared cocoon to his back.</p><p>Hoisting them over his back like a big sack of spider goodies for Spider-Claus to take to all the little spiderlings for Spider-Christmas (Boy he hoped there wasn’t an actual Spider-Chirstmas, that sounded so goth it’d make Tim Burton blanch), he hopped over to the balcony, then looked down. The sensation of vertigo had <em> long </em>left him, since he’d begun web-slinging and wall-crawling. The real terror would be in keeping these two alive.</p><p>There was no time to worry about it now, though. Webbing himself to the balcony for an anchor, he leapt off of it to the side of the skyscraper. To his impressed surprise, Harry did <em> not </em>scream, despite the terror he’d shown earlier at the situation. It took a lot of guts to accept a descent down a 100+ story building’s exterior with stoic resignation.</p><p>Norma, for her part, had a similar dignity. Of course, Spider-Man suspected <em> that </em> had more to do with her refusal to show any kind of weakness than genuine courage. He didn’t know her well enough to know if that was true, but it <em> felt </em> right, and that was what mattered.</p><p>With deftness that amazed even himself, Spider-Man clambered down the side of Oz Tower with the Osborns in tow. The crowd cheered him on as he did so, and lots of other reporters got good pics of him.</p><p>Given everything, these would probably be the first pictures anyone but the Bugle would get of him. And given the Bugle’s reputation, probably the first pictures<em> anyone </em> would see of him. Not a bad public first impression, at least to the people in power, to carry a billionaire and her son down the side of a gigantic building.</p><p>When he reached the ground, he gently lowered the Osborns to the ground and released them into the care of some nearby EMTs. He helpfully told them the chemical formula to dissolve the web cocoons, and let them know that the two were uninjured, at least as far as he knew anyway.</p><p>Once the Osborns were being safely carted away, the gathered cops began making moves as if they were about to arrest him. <em>That </em>was his cue to <em>leave</em>, and without warning he leapt into the air and swung himself away by webline.</p><p>As he did so, he finally saw that the sun was beginning to set. So this had been his day off, huh? Some homeless people helped, the Baxter Building saved from an insane dictator’s insane robot duplicate, a billionaire rescued (along with a weird cat...witch?), and best of all; he’d had a real, live, actual date.</p><p>Then, out of nowhere, his phone started buzzing. At first he hoped it was Betty, but then to his surprise, he saw it was Aunt May.</p><p>He held the phone up to his ear. “Hey, Aunt May, I’m on my way home-”</p><p>“Peter!” She shouted into the phone, sounding <em> horrified, </em>“Come quickly! Help me! I’ve been taken!”</p><p>Peter’s eyes went wide beneath the mask. “What? What’s going on, taken where?”</p><p>“Some place beneath Park Avenue,” she shouted hurriedly, as the sound of something big and stompy moved around in the background, “Underneath an old arcade called ‘Devilfish Duels’, I’m sorry-”</p><p>The line went dead. With trembling hands, Spidey put the phone back in its pouch. He turned towards the direction of Park Avenue, and swung away.</p><hr/><p>When he got there, he looked around for the arcade. He was panicked, hurried, low on webs and probably suffering from some smoke inhalation, but he didn’t care. He was going to find Aunt May, whatever it took. There was no time to wonder what <em> exactly </em> was going on, or who’d take Aunt May. The call had been <em> real </em> ; that had been her number, her <em> voice </em>. That was enough.</p><p>Eventually, he saw the place, and leapt down to ground level. Nobody was around, though he stood out even brighter than normal against the still-fresh snowfall all around. The arcade was abandoned-looking, with all the machines covered in plastic sheets. The front door was locked- that was no impediment to Spider-Man, of course.</p><p>With a mighty kick, he knocked it down. When he charged inside, it didn’t take long to see that there was an open trapdoor, leading below. Whoever had dragged Aunt May down here had done so in a hurry, and that would prove their undoing.</p><p>Spider-Man leaped into the hole, and landed with a roll on the floor below. When he landed after a short fall, he found himself in a rectangular room that looked to be made entirely of concrete.</p><p>His spider-sense immediately flared, and he leapt...and then it flared <em> again, </em> and before he could do anything, his leg was grabbed by something <em> strong </em>.</p><p>Spider-Man was waved around like a rag doll in midair, and he struggled to bend up and reach the metal claw that had gripped his leg. He could vaguely see that it was attached to a long metal...something. Like a tentacle? It was really blurry.</p><p>His spider sense went off <em> again </em> , and he jerked his arm away from something reflexively. Unfortunately, it went off immediately after that, and before he could move the arm <em> again </em>it was caught in another powerful claw grip. With two limbs gripped, he was basically helpless. With his other hand he hoped to maybe web whoever did this- but before he could, one more claw gripped it. He was left with his only free limb being his leg.</p><p>“Oh dear,” a voice, electronically filtered and deep, echoed towards him, “I must confess I’m disappointed.”</p><p>Spidey turned to look in the direction of the voice, and finally caught a glimpse of his attacker. It was a person of indeterminate gender or age, wearing a <em>very </em>snazzy combo of a vest, black trousers, and a long woolen coat. Their hands were in their pockets, and they were held off the ground by a few feet by one more tentacle, that seemed to be bearing their weight as well as that of the four metal arms.</p><p>Their face was hidden behind a featureless silver mask that reflected and distorted all before it, itself framed by a black cowl.</p><p>“Gah, who are you?” Spider-Man grunted, as he struggled in vain against the <em> amazingly </em> powerful arms. He was able to shake them, and he could tell that, given time, he could break out. There was no way of telling how much time he needed, however, and how much time he <em> had </em>.</p><p>The figure tilted their head curiously, making Spidey think of Jason Voorhees. “Doctor Octopus. At least, that’s how I’m known <em> professionally </em>.”</p><p>“Doctor Octopus? Oh, because of the whole...eight limbs thing. For a moment I was wondering why you only had <em> four </em>tentacles.”</p><p>“Believe me,” they replied, in a <em> remarkable </em>deadpan, “I’ve considered upgrading once or twice. Trouble is these were so expensive that, well...it wouldn’t be worth the diminishing returns, you know?”</p><p>“Yeah, I follow. Only trouble is Doctor Octopus is...a bit long, you know? Oooh, can I shorten it to ‘Doc Ock’?”</p><p>Surprisingly, the masked madperson (Man? Woman? Non-binary? It was tough to tell) actually laughed, sounding genuinely amused. “Yes, I like that. Nice <em> ring </em> to it. Doc Ock. Does this mean I can call you ‘Spidey’?”</p><p>Spider-Man grunted as he tried to kick at the claw gripping at his leg with his one free limb, and kept missing it by inches. “You’ll forgive me, but I prefer my friends only get to call me that.”</p><p>“That’s understandable,” Doc Ock replied calmly, “I haven’t done much to endear myself to you, have I?”</p><p>God, it was annoying how many Tavia vibes this person was giving off. Now he was going to keep wondering if <em> she </em> was this ‘Doc Ock’ when he saw her at school tomorrow...provided he <em> got </em> to school tomorrow. “ I mean I’m <em> impressed </em> as <em> Hell </em>, Doc. It was a good trap. Do you mind telling me how you did it?”</p><p>They shook their head. “I’m afraid that I do mind. I regret to tell you, Spider-Man, that you won’t be leaving this cell. Danger Room, activate. Setting: Spider-containment.”</p><p>The room was suddenly <em> flooded </em> with lights, and Spidey had to narrow his eyes. Suddenly, everything <em> changed </em> ; he environment became lush and green, and there was a simulacrum of his house. This was...it couldn’t be normal technology. This was alien, or it was magic, or it was some weird crap that came from the moon like the Terrigen Mist.<br/>“ Forge’s handiwork is impressive,” she noted, as if reading his mind, “Mutant gifts allow for... <em> remarkable </em>things.”</p><p>He was released from the tentacle grip, and immediately began running towards Doc Ock...only, they weren’t there anymore.</p><p>Suddenly though, he heard the sound of metal against concrete. When he turned around, they were standing behind him, all four tentacles resting on the ground. Up close, he could see that they connected to their body via a harness that was attached, like some huge clip, to their back of their clothes. He wondered if this was cybernetic prosthesis, or something removable. It was tough to tell.</p><p>What <em> wasn’t </em> tough to tell, was that Doc Ock was <em> not </em> standing right in front of him. It was a hologram, or an illusion, or <em> something </em>screwy. His spider-sense wasn’t going off, and none of his senses besides sight suggested they were really there.</p><p>“Normally,” the Doctor began, sounding sad about something, “I’d be eager to ask you to join me, Spider-Man.”</p><p>“Oh yeah? And why aren’t you eager <em> now </em>?”</p><p>“Mostly because it’s not feasible,” Doc Ock replied, strolling casually around Spidey, hands <em> still </em>in their pockets, “I’ve got you imprisoned here and...well that means you don’t have a choice. It’d be wrong to force you to join the organization I belong to, and yet I also cannot guarantee your safe conduct even if you refuse.”</p><p>When Spidey didn’t say anything, they continued. “You’ve interfered in our plans before, already. That can’t be allowed. Until things are done...you have to be kept locked up, Spider-Man.”</p><p>“’Our’ plans? So is this the Royal We, or do you have some buddies? And what makes you so certain I can’t escape, anyhow?”</p><p>They turned to face him, with their...well, their weird metal helmet thing. “As for the latter...this room has been designed to contain whole <em> teams </em> of superhumans, in actual life-threatening scenarios. This one is set to confound your senses, and all actual exits are sealed off. You <em> cannot </em>escape, no matter how much you’d like to. As for the latter...now, that would be telling. I’ll let you know everything once things have come to their conclusion. But until then...no. It’s too risky.”</p><p>They paced around him curiously, and then paused. “Although, there was something I’d wanted to explain to you. It won’t help you if, in theory, you <em> did </em>get out of here, but you might find it interesting all the same?”</p><p>Spidey put his hands on his hips. “Uhuh, sure. Go ahead, I guess.” He desperately tried looking around for an escape, but all he could see was the definitely-fake environment. Not even his spider-sense could detect where Doc Ock had gotten off to.</p><p>“Are you familiar with either of the following terms,” they began, sounding like the human embodiment of those annoying surveys that you’d get spam emails about, “Retrovirus, S3?”</p><p>Spidey stared blankly, an expression that was for once mirrored perfectly in his mask.</p><p>“Guess not,” Doc Ock replied, with a heavy sigh, “Okay so...let’s say that, in theory, I knew your secret identity. I do, of course, but I won’t tell anyone.”</p><p>Beneath the motionless mask, Peter Parker went pale. “You...how did you...”</p><p>They quirked their masked head at him. “That’d be telling. Just, trust me on this.”</p><p><em> Like I have a choice </em>. Spider-Man thought, in the privacy of his own mind.</p><p>Doc Ock continued, blithely ignorant of Spidey’s irritation. “So, you were bitten by a spider. Here’s the thing about spiders; they don’t normally give people superpowers when they bite them.”</p><p>Spider-Man rolled his eyes, though he wondered why he bothered. “Gee, really? With insights like this, I can see why they call you <em> Doctor </em>Octopus.”</p><p>“I mean I actually <em> do </em> have a Doctorate, but that’s besides the point. At any rate, the spider had recently been in the same room as someone who had recently been infused with a retrovirus, that had infected them. Now, a retrovirus, to put it simply, is a kind of virus that goes into somebody’s DNA and replaces it with some of their own. It <em> also </em>takes DNA from the host, which makes it a handy tool for genetic engineering purposes.”</p><p>They paused for effect, and Spidey actually thought he was maybe starting to see where they were going with this.</p><p>“So the thing about it is, the retrovirus had been put into that person in the first place to infuse them with what we call the S3 genes. S3 standing for Super Soldier Serum, as in...”</p><p>“Captain America?!” Spider-Man was actually surprised, now. “I thought that was a myth, that he had superpowers.”</p><p>Doc Ock looked at him for a moment, and then rolled their helmeted head back and <em> laughed </em> , loud and terrifyingly. “ No, no...he could pick up and throw small <em> tanks </em>, Spider-Man, how do you think he did that? Vitamins?”</p><p>Spidey shrugged, <em> literally </em>helplessly. “I guess...I just figured they made that part up...”</p><p>They shook their head. “No. The S3 really <em> did </em> give him superhuman abilities, far beyond even yours in some respects. The past eighty years have seen scores of scientists try to replicate its effects, which has been difficult since the original notes were...confused. The scientists who created the formula knew nothing of genetics, and a core ingredient of the formula was something they only referred to as an “Unknown Tissue Sample”, which was apparently taken from a Canadian soldier in World War I. The tissue sample was somehow still <em> alive </em> after being removed from him, and showed many miraculous qualities. Their notes on how they treated it to create the serum are thorough, but confused.”</p><p>Spider-Man raised a hand. “So, hang on...you said people were studying it since then?”</p><p>Doc Ock nodded. “Right. And the researchers divided into two camps ever since Franklin, Watson, and Crick discovered DNA. Originally, all research was focused on replicating the serum. After the discovery, though, the effort changed. I, and many other geneticists, worked to isolate the super soldier genes from Steve Rogers’ DNA samples- of which there are plenty, primarily through his descendants- and insert them into viable hosts.”</p><p>“Wait,” Spidey interjected, flailing his hands about, “Captain America had <em> kids </em>?!”</p><p>“At least one biological child that we know of, yes, though he was more of a...<em> sperm donor </em>, there. We’ve since found others that are close genetic matches and exhibit the S3 phenotype traits, so it’s likely he had even more.”</p><p>They waved a hand dismissively. “All that’s besides the point, though. So, with a retrovirus- particularly one modified to our purposes, of course- one can extract the DNA from a source, and then insert it into a new host. What I suspect happened was that the spider bit someone who had been infected with the virus, and thus been granted the S3 genes. The S3 genes were possibly inserted into the spider, and the vast gulf in terms of genetic structure meant it all ended up as junk DNA and probably had no effect. The virus did however take some genes from the spider, and thus when it infected <em> you </em>, it gave you some of them.”</p><p>Spidey thought about it. In hindsight, that fit; the only things he could do that seemed particularly spider-y were his ability to make web fluid and his wall-crawling. The rest...well he guessed if Cap was that strong, then his ability to toss cars around with <em> relative </em>ease made sense. His agility, durability, quick healing...all of that was the kind of thing he’d heard Aunt May talk about Captain America being able to do, implausible as it had sounded.</p><p>“So, that doesn’t explain something else, though,” Spider-Man noted, realizing a few bits, “How do I make silk, and how do I stick to walls?”</p><p>“Oh, you make that yourself? Looks like I won <em> that </em>bet.”</p><p>Spider-Man raised an eyebrow. “Bet?”</p><p>Doc Ock waved a hand negligently. “Vulture and I were debating whether or not you just engineered it on your own. She thought you engineered it yourself. I said you <em>had </em>to have produced it yourself, because if you were spontaneously engineering something <em>that </em>close to <em>real </em>spider silk, you would’ve found some way to profit off of it. Not for selfish gains, of course, I can see <em>that </em>much. I just mean...well, for funding, you know?”</p><p>He groaned, annoyed at the fact that this supervillain had his number. Or at least, <em> seemed </em>to have his number. “You really know a lot about me, huh?”</p><p>“Everything except how you stick to walls,” she noted, “That one just...I don’t get that. How do you do that?”</p><p>Spider-Man shrugged. “Beats me, thought I got it from spider DNA.”</p><p>The supervillain just stared at him blankly, their featureless mask a mask. Obviously. “Yes...well, suffice to say I don’t find that a sufficient explanation. At all. You’re a minor miracle, Spider-Man...a pity you’re so careless.”</p><p>The superhero felt himself tense up, and he began circling the illusory supervillain. It didn’t matter, of course, since this couldn’t be the real her. It was just a virtual proxy...and this lush garden he was in wasn’t fooling his enhanced senses, either. “For falling into a trap just because I thought my...wait. You...you know who I am, don’t you?”</p><p>Doc Ock nodded, and for a moment he felt ready to <em> freak out </em> . “I’m not going to <em> tell </em> anyone of course, Mr. Parker. I will warn you though, it was...not very subtle. Hiring yourself as a photographer and choosing a little paper like the <em> Bugle </em>. Made inducing your identity rather easy.”</p><p>“Deducing,” he corrected, trying to stay calm, failing to be calmed by this fake greenery all around, “It’s deducing. Inducing is when you cause something.”</p><p>They shook their head. “No. It’s inductive reasoning, in this case, not deductive. Deductive requires removing all other possibilities. I just narrowed it down as much as I could, and then...well, I tested my theory. It turned out I was right.”</p><p>Now the resemblance to Tavia was mounting...but no, he dismissed that. There were plenty of smug geniuses in the world. No reason to assume Tavia was Doc Ock just because some smug weirdo with robot arms happened to act like her.</p><p>“So, if you know my secret identity, are you going to go after my friends? As leverage?”</p><p>The sudden jerk of Doc Ock’s head suggested they were <em> offended </em>at that notion. “And why would I need that? You’re not escaping.”</p><p>“I mean...no, probably not,” he left any defiant thoughts aside, since the situation <em> was </em>pretty hopeless, “But...I mean I figured you’d want to be thorough?”</p><p>“It’s beneath me...and it’s wrong. I’ve got a goal, Spider-Man. Besides, your friends have been hurt enough by your actions.”</p><p>“I...I haven’t hurt them,” he tried to get out, feeling oddly choked up, “I just...what are you talking about, actually?”</p><p>“You never told them you were Spider-Man. They’re going to wonder...what happened to their friend? One day they’ll learn the truth, and they’ll wonder why he never trusted them. Why they had to mourn in secret when they learned the truth, why they went for years not knowing who their friend <em> really </em> was. All the lies you’ll tell, to get away from them, to evade suspicion. The big ones, and the little ones. They’ll destroy <em> any </em>chance you have of staying friends.”</p><p>Okay, so now the supervillain was trying to play therapist?</p><p>“I can’t tell them, it’d put them in danger.”</p><p>Doc Ock waved a hand dismissively. “Ridiculous to think them not knowing your secret identity would protect them from people who happened to find it out, and wished you ill...people like me. You’re <em> very </em>lucky I’ve got standards, Mr. Parker.”</p><p>Peter gritted his teeth behind the mask. “I can’t...if I told them, I’d be putting myself at risk, too!”</p><p>“Oh? So you don’t trust them? One wonders why you’re friends with them...or if they’re really your friends <em> at all </em>.”</p><p>At that, Spider-Man was at a total loss for words. He just stood there, wordlessly fixing his gaze and all his hatred on this smug cyborg who was ruining his whole life as an <em> afterthought </em>to some great plan.</p><p>He slumped, and fell to the floor, dejected. “Why don’t you just tell me your evil plan and get it over with.”</p><p>The evil scientist just shook their head. “I won’t. I’m not one for that sort of gloating, and on the off-chance you escape it’d be a major problem for me.”</p><p>“That’s a shame,” purred a familiar voice from above, “Here was me hoping you’d spill all your juicy secrets. Oh, well.”</p><p>A wisp of purple smoke enveloped Peter, and the hologram of Doc Ock tensed up in alarm. The black-suited woman from Oz Tower appeared before Spider-Man, grinning like a maniac. Before he could do or say anything, she wrapped her arms around him and he began to <em> fly </em>.</p><p>At least, that’s how it <em> felt </em> . The experience was vanishingly brief, as he passed through some weird rainbow-space (It <em> looked </em>like a rainbow, okay?) and then reappeared back on Park Avenue.</p><p>The woman in black smiled warmly at him. “And now...we’re even.”</p><p>“Hang on, hang on,” Spider-Man began, holding up a hand, “What just happened? How did you find me?”</p><p>She sighed. “For the former...a teleport spell. Trivial magic, really, <em> beneath </em>my skills, usually. In this case though, I needed to get you out of there fast. For the latter? I put a tracking spell on you back at Oz Tower. It was really quite simple tracing you here, Spider-Man.”</p><p>Spidey sighed. “Who <em> are </em> you, weird lady, and what do you <em> want </em>with me?”</p><p>She laughed quietly. “I’m Black Cat. I steal things, I do magic, and I kiss pretty boys...and occasionally, very pretty girls.”</p><p>“Okay,” he said, definitely <em> done </em>with today, “So um...can I go, now?”</p><p>She held up one finger. “No, not so fast. I’ll be needing some...repayment from you, first.”</p><p>“What kind of-”</p><p>Before he could do or say anything else, she’d lifted up the lower half of his mask and kissed him, full on the lips. His first kiss.</p><p>From some random witch-thief cat burglar in fetish gear he’d known for a few hours at most, after she saved him from a crazy octopus doctor. Well, at least it was memorable.</p><p>When she finally broke away, she looked up at him, seeming <em> very </em> pleased with herself. “Now, we’re even...but don’t think I’m going to ignore you, pretty little Spider. We’ll <em> definitely </em> have to dance again, and <em> soon </em>.”</p><p>And with that, she vanished into a cloud of purple smoke again.</p><p>Spider-Man stood there on Park Avenue for a bit, before remembering he was lingering dangerously near to a supervillain’s lair. After making sure to reload them, he fired off his web-shooters and pulled himself along the skyline back towards Queens.</p><p>On the way there, though, his phone rang <em> again </em>. With some reluctance, he picked it up.</p><p>“Hey, Parker,” the voice of Betty came in, warm and welcome to the ear, “You doing okay? I saw you save some people from Oz Tower and then...nothing. Your Aunt called the Bugle, sounded worried that you were late. Everything okay?”</p><p>“Well,” Spider-Man began, taking a breath, “I’ve had a long day, that just ended with me only narrowly escaping from the lair of some new supervillain, thanks to some weird black cat themed magic-using weirdo lady...who also might’ve given me my first kiss.”</p><p>He winced at that last one, realizing how it came across. There was a pause before Betty finally replied.</p><p>“...she better have been <em> hot </em>.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Had to cut this from the Blurb, to my annoyance, so I'm posting it here.</p><p> </p><p>(First of several installments in an original, much queerer and more streamlined take, on the Marvel Universe. Expect a lot of canonically white characters to be rather less white, and a lot of famous stories to be adapted in new ways. Do not expect deals with Mephisto, Clones, or Gwen Stacy having an affair with the Green Goblin.)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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